Dark Passengers
by The-First-Step
Summary: There was nothing beautiful about Belle French anymore. It had disappeared a long time ago and nothing would ever bring it back. But she didn't count upon a recently widowed Mr Gold, or the healing power of his baby boy. But is it enough to fix Isabelle, when she doesn't even know she's broken? Warning this fic contains very strong themes; swearing, suicide and other nasties abound
1. Poison, Wine and Gold

Chapter One

_**So I've decided to begin yet another Rumbelle fanfic, I know it's terrible of me considering people are still waiting on Glittering Gold updates but this chapter would not leave me alone. Be warned this fic is dark, very dark. It borders on disturbed but I promise it will get lighter. If you do not like the mentions of suicide, rape and spousal abuse, if you have problems with abandonment and trouble psychosis' this is not the fic for you and I suggest you go back to scrolling FF right now. Again, you have been warned. **_

Thunder rolled overhead, just as Isabelle French finished the final preparations for her exit. She sat quietly inside the wooden cabin, cross-legged inside the circle of flickering candles that gave the otherwise bare room a softened appearance. The cabin was buried deep inside the forests that surrounded the quiet town of Storybrooke. It was not a place often ventured to during winter, in fact the only people who used it were hikers in summer and teenage sweethearts after too much prom night punch. It was a squat, log cabin, about fifteen metres long and five metres wide. It was a rather desolate building, bare except for a dusty fireplace, a table, a few scattered chairs and an emergency telephone/first-aid cabinet. It was the perfect spot to get away, which also made it the perfect place for a suicide. Isabelle gently placed the final candle on the floor beside its brethren and swallowed thickly. There was a circle of 20 pure white candles immediately encompassing her, one for each year she'd spent on this earth. Each was small and identical to its neighbour, just like 'The Voice' had commanded and the floor had been cleared of furniture to give her enough space to play out the deed. Isabelle's immediate vicinity had even been swept, showing the sturdy floorboards beneath the thick layer of dust the cabin had accumulated through the lonely autumn months. Everything was ready. Beside her right knee was a single sheet of paper she'd torn from her diary earlier that day. It was covered in a neat, flowing script that was only marred by the occasional splashes that marked the places her tears had fallen as she wrote. It was addressed to her Papa, the only person who would care enough to read it. Placing the used match back inside its box Isabelle threw the whole thing into a darkened corner of the room and picked up the gun that rested on the old floorboards in front of her. She turned it over in her hands, testing its weight. She opened it and placed a single bullet inside the barrel, cocking the now deadly weapon and lifting it slowly to place the cold muzzle against her temple. She paused, smiling slightly when a roll of thunder rumbled loudly above her. It shook the whole cabin and Isabelle sighed happily as she placed a little pressure on the trigger. It would be weeks until she was found. Her other note, the one she'd left on her desk back home, said she was leaving town for an interview. Her Papa wouldn't become suspicious until she didn't phone or write. The sheriff's office wouldn't be called until at least another couple of days. No one would miss her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared to fire.

_Your father would miss you. _A voice whispered quietly from the back of her mind and Isabelle's fingers froze. That was not 'The Voice'. This one was soft, feathery and full of light. It was warm and it was kind, begging her to put the gun down. She shook her head to clear it, steadying her hand and pressing the muzzle deeper into her skin. This was what she needed to do, to end it all, to put all the voices away. It was easy enough. Not much in putting a bullet through your brain.

**Do it Isabelle, pull the trigger. **This was 'The Voice'. This was the one that had come to her late in the night, whispering endlessly throughout the night until she begged it to leave. Its seductive, velvety tone wrapped itself around her like a smothering fog and Isabelle's fingers once again tightened around the trigger. 'The Voice' cackled and egged her on fiendishly.

_Isabelle, don't!_

**Do it Isabelle, stop being so weak.**

_Live Isabelle, live. _

**Die, it's so much easier. **

Isabelle gasped as the voices waged war inside her head. She felt as though they were tugging her this way and that, pounding through her head until liquid heat began to trickle freely down her cheeks. She hadn't even realised she'd begun to cry until she felt the burning trails pooling into her lap, one salty drop at a time. Her heart was pounding in her ears, beating painful against her ribs as she started to sob, her breath coming short and making her whole body quake as she struggled to keep the gun levelled at her head. The strain on her arm was showing, the muzzle shaking against her skin. She needed to do this! She had to! She didn't deserve to live!

_Yes you do Isabelle. _She froze. The warm voice was soothing, a balm on her soul. Did she really? Slowly she pulled the gun a spare centimetre from her temple and opened her eyes. Through the blur of tears she could see that the room was just as it had been, darker than before since the storm had gathered quickly, but still silent and still covered in dust except for the ring of white candles she had encircled herself within. She drew a trembling breath as lightning flashed, illuminating the scene around her as the rain finally struck the roof. No, pelted. The thunder of it almost drowned her roaring heart-beat.

"I have to do this…" She whispered weakly, her voice barely heard over the sound of the rain, but the little voice begged her.

_No Isabelle, no you don't, you don't have to do this at all._

"But the Voice…" She murmured, the gun slowly falling to her lap as she gazed down at the ugly, black weapon in her hands.

**It would be quick Isabelle. It's easier than falling asleep. **The dark voice was back and Isabelle felt her resolve weakening again. She watched as though from far away as her hand rose, the wicked black object pointing itself once more into the side of her head. She struggled to bring it to her temple and swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"I have to do this." She shouted brokenly, her tears falling unheedingly down her face as she forced her fingers to tightened around the trigger for the last time.

"No you don't." Isabelle gasped and whirled on her knees to face the man standing in the doorway behind her, his amber eyes fixed on the weapon straining against her temple.

_OoOoOoO_

Robert Gold's day was beginning to make the Judeo-Christian apocalypse look like fucking cake-walk. In less than 24 hours the perfectly constructed life he'd built himself had come tumbling down around his ears, and it was all _her_ bloody fault. In fact, a lot of his life's problems could be traced back to bitch. That morning Maine's child services had contacted him. During a brief phone call, no more than 2 minutes long, the stateswoman on the other end had informed him that, due to the untimely death of his ex-wife Milah Gold _nee_ Barker, he was now the sole guardian of a three year old son he hadn't even known existed. Oh yes, in terms of originality the woman really knew how to throw a mean curve-ball. After staring at the wall of his kitchen for what felt like a decade Robert's first reaction had been to deny Baden's existence altogether. For all he knew the boy was the offspring of any one of the many affairs Milah had partaken in during their 10 years of marriage. On the other hand, just as he went to inform the woman exactly where to place the wee bastard, a long forgotten part of his conscious whispered to him about his old desire to have a child and stopped him from immediately rejecting the proposition on the other end of the phone. It had after all been something he'd discussed avidly with Milah early on in their marriage, his want for children, but she'd been far too interested in the idea of travelling the world to think of settling down and raising a family. It was this exact difference in lifestyle that caused some of their most spectacular arguments and over the years had bittered down to long periods of frigid silence and, eventually, numerous affairs with other men to avoid spending time in one another's company. When he looked back on the whole thing he often wondered what it had been that brought them together. Milah Barker had been a young and spectacularly selfish woman whose sole purpose in life had apparently been making his own perfectly miserable. For ten years they had stuck together, possibly just so each could spite the other, and for ten years they had been the subject of gossip throughout Storybrooke. Obviously their connection hadn't been their similar ideals or life-time goals he remanisqued ruefully. They had separated not long after their tenth anniversary, when she decided to run off with a visiting naval officer and left him to his own devices. Robert had not regretted her decision. He had long since stopped loving her, if ever the feeling existed at all, and even before that had given up making her happy. The happiest day of both their lives had probably been the day she'd climbed into that Jones lad's ute and sailed away into the sunset. He'd even embraced the possibility of divorce notice, only to find she'd proverbially walked off the face of the planet. Putting her out of his mind Robert had spent the next four years building himself a reputation in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine. It was one that didn't involve children, and one that certainly didn't involve Milah. Four years passed quite unremarkably, he grew a business from scratch and became rather successful. His law degree had seen him rise to become one of the most prominent members of the community. Yet only that very morning he found the serenity he'd built himself was about as solid as a castle of sand. All the careful plans he'd created, all the deals he'd made, all now had to be placed on the back burner. After hanging up the phone that morning, he's driven almost immediately for Boston. As it turned out, Milah had been closer to home than he'd thought. He'd arrived in Boston and, after an embarrassing phone call, driven to the foster care centre where a rather severe looking blonde woman had handed him a sleeping baby boy and a signed letter of temporary guardianship. As he'd juggled the lad and his lease of custody jolly old Ratched kindly informed him that the rest of the paperwork, Baden's birth and medical records, would be sent later in the week and child services would check up on their progress every couple of weeks until the probationary period was through. Robert had scowled at that. Despite his leg aching like a bitch as he struggled to keep the toddler in his arms aloft and the moment he'd held Baden in his arms he had known he'd never let the little boy go again. The very thought of giving him up into the system felt infinitely worse than a sledge hammer to the solar plexus and as she walked away on her stupid little heels, leaving him alone with the boy for the first time, Robert felt the first stirrings of overwhelming protectiveness rise within him as he stared down into the lad's peacefully sleeping face. Unwilling to disturb his rest Robert had sat down in one of the hard plastic seats in the centre and waited for the boy to wake, knowing that his less than smooth step would surely send the boy into a fit of misery. As he waited he had studied the child in his arms, trying to find himself in the being slumbering on his chest. A small pale face, circled by an abundance of brown curls didn't really help confirm the boy's parentage but there was an innocent grace to the toddler's sleep that made Robert smile. After about an hour later the boy had awoken, staring around dazedly before peering up into Robert's face in confusion.

"Hello Bae." Robert said softly, falling hard and fast as he gazed into the deep brown depths of his son's stare.

"Let's go home." He said softly and without another word stood. Tucking the child's head into his neck and limping out of the centre had given Robert a rush of pride greater than any deal or case he'd ever won. Exhausted no doubt the lad didn't say a word as they left Boston, nor did he make any other sound as his father drove off into unfamiliar countryside. To Robert the drive back to Storybrooke was deafeningly quiet. Despite his previous want for children, he was oddly unfamiliar as to what he was expected to do. Shouldn't toddlers be louder? Should he say something? What was he going to do during the working hours? Question after question pummelled him as the car steadily ate miles between them and Storybrooke and he grimaced as the sky overhead darkened. The moment the great rolls of sound echoed across the sky Robert heard Baden's breath catch in his little throat. He had about half a moment's warning before an ear-splitting wail rent the air apart and nearly did the same to his eardrums. He nearly wrapped himself around a tree beside the road the sound had startled him so badly and braking hard looked around his seat to see his son's terrified face. Instantly out of his depth Robert panicked. As the lad's shrieks escalated Robert ran a hand through his hair in frustration, a gesture he only allowed himself to do in private. It meant he was entirely at a loss at what to do, and it was not a feeling that Robert Gold enjoyed. Looking at his watch he saw he had 45 minutes until they arrived home and quickly began to drive. After only 5 minutes of Baden's screams he knew neither of them would last that long. The Welcome to Storybrooke sign flashed past his window and he sighed with relief when the road to his summer cabin appeared out of the growing gloom.

"Just a little longer Bae." He soothed desperately as the infant cried incessantly from behind him. He pulled up outside the log cabin just as the sky opened up and the heavens released themselves upon the earth. Robert's forehead slammed forward and connected with the steering wheel as he groaned in frustration. Of course this would happen. He searched the glove box for the keys to the hut, fighting to control his rapidly thinning temper over the combine roars of his son and the torrential rain beating down on his car. Then his sight fell on something through the rain that made him pause. There was light coming from inside the cabin, meaning someone else was having as bad a day as himself. He looked around but couldn't spot another vehicle, which meant whoever it was had walked out here, during winter, and gotten trapped when the weather turned south. He grimaced at the thought of sharing the cabin with another human being but Baden's harrowing sobs made him push the instinctive irritability aside. He turned around the seat to try and sooth the lad in the car-seat.

"Just hold on Bae." He said and Bae's cries quietened enough for him to hiccup weakly as his father smiled and reached out, rubbing the brown curls on the top of his head. His wide brown eyes stared unblinkingly at Robert and he sighed. The lad was obviously wary of him, and for good reason. Children were like horses; they could sense the rottenness in people and responded to it in kind. Robert was well aware of the state of his soul and didn't blame the lad in the least for his hesitance. Without another word he opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain, the torrent immediately soaking him through to the bone as he raced between the car and the cabin's veranda. He shook himself off as best he could and opened the door without knocking. Whoever it was could deal with it. It was his bloody cabin after all. The sight that greeted him however was the last thing he'd expected to find.

It almost seemed like some kind of bizarre satanic ritual, with the slight, black-clothed figure in the centre of the room surrounded by a glowing barrier of white candles and the soft whisper of her voice echoing faintly throughout the room. It was a woman he realised after a moment. He almost checked for an animal sacrifice but stopped when he registered the gun in the woman's hand. Her back was to the door, so she didn't see him, and despite his none-to-quiet entrance she hadn't seemed to have heard him either. Her whispers suddenly rose to a fever-point, the gun moving erratically from her lap to her temple. He swore beneath his breath.

"I have to do this." She shouted to the empty room, her voice breaking and her fingers tightening around the trigger.

"No you don't." He said without thinking and she gasped, spinning to face him. If the sight before him wasn't scaring him so damn much Robert would have taken the time to appreciate just how stunning the woman in front of him was. She was young, perhaps 20 or so, and possibly the most beautiful creature he'd ever encountered. Even through the dimness he could see that her frightfully pale face was framed by an unruly mess of russet waves and the red-rimmed eyes that now widened as they stared up at him were an unearthly shade of aquamarine. The angles of her face were fine, perhaps her jaw a little to the strong side, but those eyes were the most enchanting things he'd ever seen in his life. His mind cleared however as her wavering voice knocked his daydream for a six.

"Don't come any closer." She said and pressed the muzzle of her gun back to her temple, the black barrel digging slightly into the soft flesh and making him wince internally. He held out his free hand, the one not hold his cane, and spoke gently as he tried to remedy an obvious fucked up situation.

"Alright, I'm staying here. What's your name?" He asked, keeping his voice level. He relaxed his shoulders and even managed to smile at her threat. It was a trick he'd learned during his lawyer years, staring down the barrel of an accused with nothing more than a hunch and a thimble full of circumstantial evidence. The girl eyed him just as suspiciously as any murderer.

"Is-Isabelle." She said after a long moment of careful consideration and he smiled at her from across the room.

"Isabelle, what a lovely name." Robert murmured and she sneered at him, her extraordinary eyes flashing dangerously. He came to the rapid conclusion that girl was definitely more than a little unhinged, not that the obvious attempt at suicide hadn't already pointed that out, but he also sense a strange sort of tragedy to her. Then again, perhaps it was just his perverted 50 year old hormones talking; it wouldn't be the first time they'd screwed him over. His thoughts were hastily snapped back to the present by the sound of her voice.

"Isabelle one of the most common names in the world… there's nothing special about Isabelle." She snarled, her delicate mouth twisting with self-loathing. Fighting to control his shock Robert chuckled instead.

"Could have been worse dearie." He said lightly and she frowned, her gun falling away as she cocked her head to stared at him in confusion. He went with it, conscious of Baden in the car and of course the fact that this girl was a half-second away from ruining her life… if not at the very least ending it. He rolled his eyes and smirked at her.

"You could have been called Olga or Earnestine or Robinette." He challenged and she snorted, shaking her head as a weak laugh escaped her. He grinned, spreading his hands wide.

"See, plenty of worse names than Isabelle." She frowned but nodded. He actually began to relax, placing both his hands on the top of his cane.

"Please, please put the gun down Isabelle. You don't really want to do this." He entreated and knew instantly it was the worst thing he could have said. Suddenly the gun was pressed against her head with renewed vigour and her eyes were streaking with tears as she screamed up at him from the floor.

"What do you know about it? You don't know me! Do not presume to understand me simply because you found me a trigger pull from blowing my brains out!" She screamed and the macabre scene flared dramatically as another flash of lightning tore across the sky. She looked demented, and more than a little frightening. Her auburn hair crackled with energy and her usual eyes burned with a feverish intensity despite the tears trailing down her alabaster cheeks. If he ever got her out of here, he'd personally make sure she made it to Dr Hopper. From behind him Robert heard Baden begin to scream again, his lungs almost bursting with the effort. It made him wince, his stomach clenching painfully as the heart-wrenching sounds floated through the air and echoed throughout the cabin. He glanced behind him desperately.

"Bae!" He called comfortingly but the wee lad simply screamed on in obvious terror. Robert was torn between running for the car and staying. He ran a hand through his hair and looked behind himself to the car.

"It's alright Bae!" He continued, and looked back to see Isabelle staring at him in horror. Her eyes were flashing between him and the door behind him as though terrified of both.

"You have a baby out there?" She demanded incredulously and he nodded. She swallowed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she began to once again move the gun away from her head. Robert watched breathlessly.

"No! I won't do it." She muttered and Robert, worried for her sanity but thankful that something was sinking through her mania, latched onto it like a dying man.

"Dearie, that's my son Baden. He's only three years old and he's terrified of storms. I stopped to bring him in here, just until the storm passed." He said urgently and she nodded, if a little vaguely. Her eyes had filmed over, as though she were staring into the distance and listening to someone speaking. Finally she spoke, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"You're not here because anyone sent you?" She asked, staring up at him in wide eyed desperation. Reluctantly he shook his head, not knowing if this information would set her of again or give her peace.

"No." He said and she fell silent. For a long moment she was quiet, the cradled gun resting in her lap and her head bent in silent contemplation.

"Please Isabelle, put down the gun." Robert begged and, to his utter relief, she did. With a dull clink she placed it on the floor beside her, staring at it blankly as he limped over and stooped hurriedly to take it away. He eyed her warily as he bent down but she didn't move a muscle. She didn't even raise her head as he snapped it open and removed the single bullet inside. It was only when he limped back to the door and hurled the damned thing as far as he could, watching with satisfaction as it disappeared into the pounding rain that her shoulders slumped dejectedly. Robert turned to look back into the depths of the cabin and saw Isabelle curled up on her side, her shoulders quaking as she pounded the floor hysterically with her fist. The sounds she was making set his teeth on edge. Deciding to fix one problem before tackling another Robert cross the driveway and opened the back door of his car, unbuckling Baden as quickly as he could and wrenching the travel blanket from beneath the front passenger seat. With his son cradled safely in the crook of his arm Robert hurried as fast as his leg would allow back inside the isolated hut. The moment he closed the door, the air became still and his little boy's whimpers began to die. With the thunder outside and his face buried into his father's shoulder, the lad's tears began to dry up. He drew back unsteadily to gaze around and his chubby fingers clung like flesh-coloured limpets to Robert's jacket sleeve. He glanced up into the older man's face then sunk back into his previous position. His wholehearted trust in the man who held him made Robert Gold's long dead heart clench tight with emotion and he moved a soaking piece of brown hair out of the away of his son's enormous brown eyes. Sleepily the lad hiccupped and pressed his face into his father's hand. Carefully, after awkwardly placing the travel rug on the dusty wooden floor, Robert lowered Baden to the ground. After grumbling quietly for a few moments the lad settled on the blanket and turned to watch silently as Robert moved to where Isabelle was still crying inside her circle of candles. Her mewling sobs and pitiful lamentations made his teeth grind as they echoed throughout the lodge and an unexpected keen drew a startled cry from the boy behind them. Robert pulled a face at the lad and, despite the situation, smiled at the boy's innocent chortle. Isabelle keened again and the chortled broke off into a look of alarm. Robert jumped violently and reached out to clasp her slim shoulder cautiously. An instant later he rocked back and landed painfully on his arse as her fist came flying through the air and connected with his left eye. A second later he was sitting up and grasping her shoulders tightly in his hands, shaking her harshly and making her neck jolt worryingly. The blow hadn't hurt too badly, alright the girl packed a decent wallop, but honestly it pissed him more that she'd just attacked the person who was only trying to help her.

"What the fuck was that?" He demanded furiously and she recoiled in his grip. She was muttering something and he leaned closer to hear it. Through the ragged sobs he caught it and instantly wished he had more self-control.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please don't hurt me anymore." Isabelle muttered, her body tightening as she curled away from him defensively. Horrified he immediately loosened his death grip and sank back on his hunches. Isabelle's tear stained face peered up at him through the tangled mess of her russet hair then, to his astonishment, she launched herself at him. He flinched and fell back as her arms wrapped around his waist, burying her face into his chest and clinging to him as though her very life depended on it. In a way he supposed it did. Ever at fault with tears he hesitantly rubbed his palm over the top of her back, between her shoulder blades, just as he remembered his mother doing when he was a wee lad.

"It's alright." He said awkwardly and she drew a ragged breath. He continued to rub her back stiffly until she quietened, drawing away from him slowly and bringing her arms back to rest in her lap. She appeared both stunned and horrified at herself. There was even a brief flicker of fear in her face, before it was carefully concealed behind her china-doll mask.

"What the hell was that all about then?" He demanded, deciding to ignore it. After all, he wore one himself. She shrugged. He scowled and stood with a groan, limping back to where Bae sat staring at them curiously and hoisting the tiny lad up onto his hip. Isabelle sniffed loudly and cocked her head when Robert gazed down at her once more.

"He's a beautiful boy." She said softly and he nodded.

"I'm afraid he probably takes after his mother in that regard, and thank Christ for it too." He said, shuffling Bae around clumsily in his and only succeeding in inducing a small whimper from the boy. He immediately stopped. Isabelle however shook her head.

"No. It's in his eyes… you have the same eyes." She said firmly. Robert snorted thinking about the difference in colour. Isabelle smiled thinly.

"You the same shaped eyes… kind eyes." She said and stood up slowly. Robert gaped at her, before snorting derisively. Kind eyes indeed. Isabelle was now standing before them and Bae stared at her solemnly as she stared at him with equal frankness, her finger tapping idly upon her chin. Then she wrapped her arms around her torso and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Dressed in a lacy black dress that covered her arms to the wrists, he noticed that she was only a few inches shorter than himself. This was a pleasant surprise, as he was not the tallest man in Storybrooke by any stretch of the imagination and it had been something his wife had taken great pleasure in pointing out during their numerous shouting matches. Isabelle, he was glad to see, could still speak comfortably up at him; which did wonders for his ego. Wrenching himself away from the painful memories of his wife he took in the simple garment which, despite its quality, seemed ill-suited to the woman before him. Black, he decided, was not her colour at all. It flared out from her hips and fell to just above her kneecaps, with high neckline and a rather large bow trailing down behind her. Her feet, he now noticed, were bare and that was infinitely more her. The nails were painted a rather alarming shade of electric blue. He smirked and she shuffled awkwardly under his gaze. Robert coughed apologetically as he realised he was staring at her again. Turning his attention back to Bae, he smoothed the boy's forehead with his fingers and frowned at the dampness that came away. If it was one thing he did know about kids, it was that they got sick easily and often. Not today, he vowed silently.

"Right, well we might as well light a fire. I'm soaked and I don't want Bae to catch a chill." He said briskly and she nodded. Jumping to attention she scurried into a darkened corner of the room, returning after a moment with a box of matches clutched in her hand.

"I'll do it." She said softly and moved to the fireplace, where a stack of old newspapers and a few pieces of dried kindling stood beside the empty grate. She crouched down before it and after a few moments a dull crackling could be heard. In under a minute she had the kindling ablaze and she stood, brushing her hands off with quiet satisfaction. As she went to walk past him to the door he caught her arm. She froze in his grip and went sickeningly limp. He immediately let go.

"Just concerned dearie." He said quietly and she sneered weakly from beneath her eyebrows.

"It's not like I can kill myself with a doorknob." She muttered defensively and flung the smooth door open.

"I don't know dearie, you seem smart enough to think creatively." He muttered under his breath as a cold gust of wind swept inside and made him shiver. Baden squawked in protest and Robert patted the lad on the back comfortingly. To his pleasure he immediately stopped and snuggled into his father's chest again. Isabelle re-emerged a few moments later with two large logs tucked under each of her arms.

"Just in case we're out here for a little longer than anticipated." She said as she placed one on the glowing fire and the other beside the grate with the other fire stock. Then she moved back and blew out the circle of candles, bending to blow each one and place them on the table. Robert moved the blanket and brought it to rest before the hearth. It felt as though he were sinking into a deliciously hot bath and awkwardly sat down, stretching out his injured leg inelegantly as his son began to doze; his head resting on Robert's lap and his little body curled between the older man's legs and the fire. He looked over as Isabelle sat down beside him, bending her knees up and folding her arms on her kneecaps as she stared into the dancing flames. In the flickering light the bones of her face stuck out and he noticed the shadows underneath her eyes. One eye seemed particularly dark, a faint smattering of bruising around the crown of the socket, and he knew instantly that it wasn't from lack of sleep. Fury roiled sickeningly in his gut but he kept quiet, knowing it wasn't his place to mention it and furthermore reminding himself that he, Robert Antonius Gold, did not care. There was a long silence. Finally she spoke, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she looked over at him questioningly.

"Why did you stop me?" She asked and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Why shouldn't I have stopped you?" He asked and she shrugged. Her tone became almost musical as she rested her chin against the tops of her folded arms.

"It's not as if anyone would care if I died, the only person who'd miss me is my father." She said quietly and Robert severely doubted it was true. How could someone not miss her?

"How old are you?" He demanded roughly and she sighed.

"I'm 20." She said and thrust her chin towards the collection of white candles on the dusty table behind them.

"Didn't you count?" He stared at her in shock then felt his lips purse in thought. Outside the rain continued to pound against the windows, the dimness of the room alleviating every time lightning flashed. Each time her pretty face was thrown into sharp relief and he could only assume his was too. Oddly enough, she didn't draw away when she recognised him. She would have to have been living under a rock not recognise him after all.

"Mr Gold right?" She said and he nodded slowly. Her tone was impossible to read, he had no idea if she was pleased with this development. The stillness of her face unnerved him.

"I never would have thought you'd be the one to…" She broke off and shook her head wearily. Well, that made two of them. Holding out his hand he smirked as she tentatively stretched out her own.

"Isabelle…?" He trailed off and she coughed awkwardly.

"French, Isabelle French." She introduced as she shook his hand firmly before returning her gaze to the fire.

"Why did you have to do it?" He asked and her eyes snapped to his. In the firelight they seemed to shine an odd yellowy-green. She swallowed and bit her lip.

"Do what?" She asked and he chuckled.

"As I walked in, you said you had to do it… why?" he asked and smirked at her furious glare.

"You offering counselling sessions?" She retorted and he held up his hands innocently.

"Fine, I'll say no more but my only question is this, why did you take so long to do it? If you really wanted to die dearie, you would have pulled that trigger long before I walked through that door." He said simply and she gasped in outrage. He didn't need to look to know her face was scrunched in anger; the tensing of her entire body beside him spoke volumes.

"How dare you-!" She hissed furiously but stopped mid-sentence when Bea shifted drowsily in Robert's lap, moaning quietly. She swallowed whatever protest she'd been about to make and the pair held their breaths anxiously until he resettled once more into sleep. Then the two adults lapsed once more into silence and this time it was one that brimmed with enough tension for a knife to cut. Robert could feel her anger as though it gave out its own heat, like the fire in front of them.

"You know what would help right about now?" Robert said after a tense and rather dangerous silence. Isabelle sneered up at him from beneath her lashes.

"What?" she asked irritably and he shrugged nonchalantly.

"A nice, hot cup of tea." He said and she looked so startled he couldn't help but chuckle. Despite her disapproval he felt a stir of triumph in his chest when her pink lips curled upwards in a small grin, one she quickly hid beneath her hair.

"Tea?" Isabelle asked incredulously, surprise colouring her tone enough to induce a short chuckle from Robert.

"What else would you suggest?" He teased, surprising himself, and her, with just how easily to action came. The girl seemed stunned to silence, shaking her head as though ridding herself of a passing thought… or an inner voice. After a moment she cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder at him, her lips pursed and her expression rather sorrowful.

"I don't know. Honestly, I believed you'd be on the phone to the police the second I let you take the gun. Isn't that what most people would have done?" She asked and Robert frowned, tutting her quietly.

"Yes, but I'm not most people." He said smugly and sat back on his hands as she laughed.

"No, I guess not." There was another silence and, buried in the warmth of the flickering fireplace, Robert began to doze off. Her presence was a unexpected balm, one he should probably be worried about considering she tried to commit suicide. Spoke volumes about him though. Yet, in spite of the fact Isabelle was a would-be suicide with major issues both inside and outside her head, he was content to simply sit and doze beside her, something he hoped to god no-one ever found out about. He was sure the combined substances of his new-found son and this moment would destroy whatever premise of a reputation he'd ever been able to conjure.

"You know, I always took you for a coffee drinker Mr Gold." He started violently and almost woke Bae as her voice suddenly broke the peace around them. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember the conversation they'd been having. Looking over he saw that she was smirking broadly. So much for the fearsome reputation. He couldn't help the dark and instinctual scowl that crossed his lips, he hated being mocked by anyone, but instantly regretted it when her own drooped pitfully. Her slim shoulders bunched around her ears and she began to earnestly study the dust floor, as though dust motes had always been a great fascination for her. Sighing he reached out and grasped her arm, marvelling at the warmth beneath his fingers. She flinched so violently he thought she'd give herself whiplash. His scowl only deepened.

"I won't hurt you dearie." He muttered darkly and she nodded meekly, her incredibly blue eyes downcast. Her face, which had only moments ago seemed warm as the sun, now took on a hue he assumed was only natural on the dead.

"Of course." Isabelle replied stiffly. She slowly brought her face up towards his and gave him such a wide eyed mask of an expression he could feel the ache of it in his teeth. Disgustedly, he dropped her arm and turned away, trying to ignore the automatic relaxing of the girl's muscles as he did so.

"I'm sorry." She said and he snorted.

"It's no matter." He replied dismissively and winced when her shoulders hunched even more. It was disturbing to see her so fearful and insecure, even more than when she waved a gun around her head and screamed at him. At least then she had a spark of life to her, unlike the dull creature she became when threatened. He craved to comfort her, to put her at ease somehow but was at a complete loss as to how he could achieve that without damaging his own reputation. Inspiration struck and he swallowed.

"I enjoy tea because when I studied law in university, I lived with a sixty year old woman who made the foulest tasting brew this side of poison." He said quietly and, although she gave no sign, he guessed she was listening with an intensity bordering on mania.

"I must have consumed the stuff in metric tonnes during my final year, hell or high water that stuff would knock you for six and leave you buzzing for a good three days. However, it's also scarred me; I now harbour a deep resentment for anything stronger than a cup of black tea." He informed her candidly and glanced askance to see her biting her lips to keep from laughing. He grinned and ran a hand through Bae's unruly curls.

"That must have been positively wretched." She said teasingly and Robert rolled his eyes dramatically.

"We Scots are devilishly hard to kill, occasionally I ponder how on earth I survived though." He retorted and she laughed delightedly, her head tossing merrily as the gentle sound echoed throughout the small log cabin. Robert almost lost himself in the music of it. It was such a careless and fun loving sound he knew instantly, regardless of the state he'd found her in, Isabelle's natural disposition was brighter even that Ruby Lucas'.

"Well thank goodness you did, or else this little man wouldn't be with us today." She said, glancing down at the quietly snoring boy in Robert's lap. Again Robert carted his hand through the soft brown curls and smiled softly. He looked up to see she was now looking at him, her extraordinary eyes gleaming in the firelight.

"And, neither would I." She said softly, her head ducking slightly with silent thanks. Cautiously he reached over and clasped the slim, delicate digits of her hand and held it carefully. When she didn't flinch he smiled and squeezed it gently.

"Why haven't I seen you around town?" He asked curiously and Isabelle's face momentarily darkened before she brushed it off and sighed.

"I suppose I haven't really made much of myself… I don't… I mean to say… I hate my life and that's all there really is to me." She murmured and he frowned.

"I find that hard to believe." He said and she snorted.

"My life's a cage, one I made for myself and I didn't even think to make a key." Isabelle muttered bleakly and Robert raised an eyebrow.

"There's always a choice dearie, just like there's always a price for every decision and every deal that you make. Just because you might be paying your price now, doesn't mean this is the end of the story." He said; drawing back and making her glance at him curiously.

"Then what? What is the end of the story?" She asked and he snorted quietly.

"Didn't you ever read fairy tales dearie, happy endings are just around the corner for those of us brave enough to reach out and fight for them." Robert told her seriously and watched as something flickered deep inside those azure eyes, something primal, something she didn't even seem to be aware of.

"But, what if there's no opportunity to fight?" She asked sadly, standing up and wrapping her arms around her and shaking her head nervously.

"Make one." He said determinedly but once again she shook her head, perhaps even more firmly that before. She was drawing back from the fight, something that didn't suit her he decided. Isabelle French did not strike him as the cowardly type.

"No, I could never do that." She said softly, but there was a seed of doubt in her tone he didn't think she herself even heard it. So he shrugged and gently stirred the boy in his lap, groaning as he clambered to his feet and picked the drowsy lad up from the floor. Standing awkwardly before her he indicated towards the windows, which although darkened showed the rain had finally stopped.

"Can I drop you somewhere?" He asked and she began to protest.

"No, you've done enough already." She said but he shook his head.

"Please, just let me get you into town then… at least then, if the rain comes again, I don't have to feel guilty. I didn't just stop you from… that, to see you die of pneumonia now did I?" He said bracingly and, after a long moment, Isabelle nodded. She went to take the candles but he stopped her.

"Leave them, they don't belong with you." He said resolutely and she nodded. Squaring her shoulders she walked past him to the door and opened it, allowing the fresh smell of wet earth and fresh air to sweep inside the cabin. The chill was rejuvenating after his haze by the fire. He led her out, still bare foot he wondered idly, and opened the back door to buckle Baden back into the car. He went back and closed the cabin door and returned to the vehicle, where Isabelle had buckled herself in and was leaning over the back of her seat and murmuring something to Baden. At first he was alarmed, after all she was slightly psychotic, but as he approached he saw she was singing softly, her fingers trailing lazily over his son's forehead as the lad's eyes closed once more. He paused, not wanted to frighten her. The words floated through the glass and he cocked his head to listen.

_"I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back,__  
__The less I give the more I get back,__  
__Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise,__  
__I don't have a choice but I still choose you,__  
__Oh I don't love you but I always will,_

_Oh I don't love you but I always will-" _Isabelle broke off suddenly as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, sitting back in her seat and blushing furiously. He stepped into the car and started the engine.

"I'm sorry, my mother used to sing to me when I was going to sleep." She said and he shook his head.

"No, you know as much about children as I do dearie." He said and she frowned confusedly.

"But I thought…"

"I was informed of his existence as of this morning actually." Robert said stiffly, unsure as to why he felt he could tell her this. Damn it, he needed to get a grip on himself before he made a bigger ass of himself. He gripped the wheel tightly and focused his attention on the slick road, reminding himself to watch for Deadman's Curve which was notoriously dodgy in wet weather. Isabelle however seemed determined to talk now.

"But you seem so, natural with him… so you got thrown in the deep end huh?" She said and he frowned.

"No offense of course, just…I know how hard it can be for a single parent. My father raised me on his own since I was 5, it wasn't always easy but you learn to value what you have; just like I know Bae will as well." She said and he looked at her in amazement. She smiled and cocked her head playfully.

"What? Have I got something on my face?" She asked and he chuckled, smiling out into the road ahead with a renewed sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this. Suddenly his future didn't look so grim.

"You really think so?" He said after a minute's driving and she nodded.

"Bae's lucky to have a father like you." She said and pointed to the side of the road, just outside Clark's convenience store.

"Just here will do, I'll walk the rest." She said brightly and he frowned. He pulled over and she unclipped her seatbelt, preparing to walk out of his life once more without even a fare-you-well. Her tone was simply to faux cheery for his liking. Be that what it was.

"Are you sure?" He asked worriedly, eyeing the darkened sky doubtfully as she turned to leave. Isabelle however smiled and nodded, looking back at him and not seeming to care about the unpredictable weather outside.

"Absolutely, besides… wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation Mr Gold." She said and winked as he stared at her bewilderedly. She grinned and opened her door, stepping out and leaning on the door to peer in at him.

"Thank you for the drive back. I never believed what they said about you, that you were a monster, I know monsters and you aren't one of them." She said softly and, without another word, closed the door and walked away from the car. Her dark dress blended almost immediately into the night and he thumped the steering wheel in frustration. Monster. It was a word that aptly described him, thank you very much. He was a monster, whatever the minx thought. He was. Then he thought about her words, and a cold chill ran down his spine. What monsters did Isabelle French have to worry about? And why wasn't he one of them?

_OoOoOoO_

Belle took a deep, fortifying breath before she pulled the door key out of her pocket and slipping it into the lock of her apartment, gently pushing it open and praying it didn't creak. He always hated it when she woke him up without good cause. She breathed a sigh of relief when the hinges swung soundlessly. Carefully closing the door behind her Isabelle shuffled noiselessly down the tiny hallway and into the kitchen.

_What are you doing? Just leave! Go back to your Papa, say you're sorry and end this! _Isabelle gasped, pressing a hand to her forehead as the sweet voice returned. It was actually a shock to hear it, after a blissful couple of hours without them, either of them. She wondered why that was, why they left when Mr Gold was around. The whole time he'd stayed with her, not a single whisper had sounded inside her mind. It had felt both exhilarating and a little frightening to be so alone inside her head. It was usually so crowded she didn't know up from down, yet with him around the voices faded, the shadows no longer held her fears. Almost on cue, the other voice returned.

**Don't forget to cook it perfectly this time; you know he hates burnt meat. **Isabelle nodded distractedly, seizing the frying pan that hung over the stove and laying it quietly over the counter almost automatically. She buried her nose in the fridge and rummaged about for the food she'd eventually prepare for the nights' dinner. She'd need to go shopping tomorrow, they were almost out of food again. She closed the door, humming quietly to herself, and screamed when Gaston's face loomed out of the dark beside her. He'd been standing there as she'd rummaged, not making a sound and waiting for the right moment to frighten her. He was especially proud of his ability to unnerve her, even more so of his ability to scare the living ends out of her. So he grinned, his handsome face creasing into a deceptively pleasant smile as she fought to control her thundering heart-beat.

"Evening Izzy-belle, what are you doing?" He asked, his tone congenial on the surface but wrought with hidden depths Isabelle was only too familiar with. She took a depth breath to calm her shaking nerves and answered him quickly.

"Making dinner." She said as steadily as she could and even managed a weak smile. He scowled and she immediately stopped.

"What are you sneering at?" He demanded and she shook her head hurriedly.

"I'm just happy to see you Gaston. Are you working late tonight?" She asked carefully, placing his interest elsewhere. Anywhere that wasn't on her was better, even the job he detested. He worked as a night shift yardsman down by the docks, taking deliveries on the quayside from local and upriver fisheries and growers. He complained bitterly about it, almost every night without fail, and Isabelle was aware that his ego was continually slighted by the knockbacks he believed he received from the higher ups. To his manager he was lazy, arrogant and belligerent to his betters, to Gaston this was an unimaginable blow to his pride. Personally Isabelle saw nothing wrong with the manager's perception of her boyfriend, but God forbid should she ever say it aloud.

_**Not to mention he's a dumb-shit dock worker without enough wit to best a chicken, only an arm hard enough to crack your face. **_If Isabelle was startled by the voice she didn't let it show. Instead she focused on Gaston, who was speaking again.

"Yes, I'll be back at one… don't wait up." He said curtly and she nodded quickly, buttoning up and getting on the dinner-prep. He re-opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, sitting down at the table and watched her intensely as she moved around the close-knit kitchen. Gaston was a large man, not as large as Isabelle's father who often seemed to be like a bear in human skin, but extremely tall and muscular as most young men who'd played football in high school generally were. He was handsome, very much so, and his dark hair and blue eyes had held some attraction for Isabelle when they'd first met and even to the day they'd moved in together. Now she knew the truth, knew what lay beneath that calm, collected beauty and it frightened her. There was more to Gaston Marsh that first met the eye.

"Anything unusual happen today?" Gaston asked casually after a few minutes of tense silence and Isabelle cut her finger by accident as she sliced the vegetables. Hissing in pain and immediately bringing the ruby-red tip to her mouth, she shook her head and went back to cutting again. Gaston pursed his lips bemusedly.

"Really? What's Mr Gold giving you a lift for then?" He asked and she froze. She was trapped, and he damn well knew it. Her eyes began to burn and she fought quickly for the least offensive answer, one that might just spare her another round of abuse. Of the physical kind at least.

"The loan, he wanted to talk about the loan." She said softly, taking the first thing that came to her head and wincing. Her gratitude to Gold knew no bounds and it pained her to speak ill of him, even though it was probably the only way to go about the situation. Placing the knife down she cast a tremulous look over her shoulder to see her boyfriend lounging idly in the chair, his beer nursed between hands capable of many things, not all of them very pleasant.

_Keep calm Isabelle, do not let him see. _She grasped onto the voice like a lifeline and fixed her eyes to the floor.

"The loan?" Gaston murmured and Isabelle nodded. Clasping her hands anxiously in front of her she stared at him innocently. He glowered at her and she swallowed thickly.

"Of course, what else would the old bugger be doing? Reptilian and cold-blooded as a snake." He said finally and Isabelle nodded.

"Nasty." She murmured softly, making him nod in slow agreement.

_**You are nasty, not him. **_Isabelle controlled her reaction with the practiced ease of one who'd dealt with voices for years. This voice, the same one from before, was new. It was a strange mixture of the light, warm voice and its velvety dark counterpart. Its power lay somewhere between the two and for some reason Isabelle's strength momentarily returned with it, rejuvenated in its glow. Taking a deep breath she turned back to the stove and put the steak on. It sizzled and she was so focused on its process she didn't see the hand coming towards her until it was too late. Out of the dimness Gaston's fist connected with the back of her head, sending it sickeningly into the front of the stove and blinding her momentarily with pain. With a soft groan she slipped to the floor and sprawled senselessly on the tiles. Vaguely, she was aware of Gaston's enormous frame looming over her and raised her hands weakly to fend new blows away from her face. It didn't work but it was all she could do. He was screaming at her, calling her a bitch and a whore, a liar and a stupid one at that. Even as she stammered denials he screamed, pummelling he harder if it were even possible.

"Did you really think I would be fooled so easily? Did you think I wouldn't catch on to your little games?" He demanded and Isabelle croaked faintly.

"I'm sorry Gaston." She cried pitifully and distantly heard the unbuckling of a belt. Flinching the tried to crawl away but he gripped her hair tightly in his fist and yanked her back towards him. The pain was excruciating, her scalp felt as though it were on fire and the blow to her forehead was throbbing now with a vengeance. There was a stickiness to her face, warm and rather sluggish, and she knew at once that she was bleeding. Tears mingled with her blood as she begged Gaston to stop.

"Please Gaston, I'll be good, I'm sorry." She pleaded and he leant close, pressing his face to hers and leering dangerously.

"Oh no you're not you filthy little whore, but you're going to be." He said menacingly and without another word brought the unclipped belt down on her back. She shrieked and he cursed.

"Shut up!" He ordered and she bit her tongue. He forced her roughly to lie on her belly, standing over her with his hand still curled in her hair, and brought to belt down again. It was a long lick of agonising flame, searing her right down the trail of her spine and Isabelle's body writhed as she struggled to hold back her sobs. She bit down on her tongue and felt her mouth flood with blood. She spat it out and the tiles were flecked with crimson spittle.

"Stupid. Fucking. Dirty. Little. Whore." With each word Gaston brought the belt down on Isabelle's back and each time she felt as though her body was being raked through a furnace. She gasped and twitched, writhed and strained but not once did she utter a word. Doing so would only bring him down harder upon her. Her vision began to tunnel, there was a wetness on her back now and she knew there'd be new scars, news marks to cover up, new reasons she could never go back to her Papa. Finally, he stopped. Unable to do anything but pant Isabelle simply lay on the floor of the kitchen, blood pouring from her face and mouth, back flaring with each ragged breath and her scalp feeling as though it were on fire. Her face was pressed into the tiles and she could see red smeared across the white clay. She'd have to clean that now, she noted idly. Suddenly she was yanked up and spun about on her knees.

"Open." He said forcefully. Isabelle fought back the groan in her throat and obeyed, slowly opening her mouth just as he rammed his pulsing member as far as he could down her throat. His cock was monstrous, blue veined and wide, choking her with every moment and she gagged. Instinctively she sought to withdraw from the action but he held fast to the hair on the back of her head and thrust angrily into her mouth. She was sobbing and gagging and spitting as he furiously fucked her mouth. Each breath was impossible, her lungs were on fire and she felt the urge to pass out growing with each violent thrust of Gaston's hips. Soon she could feel him jerking erratically, already spiralling into the climax. If it was one thing about Gaston Marsh she could be grateful for, not that there was much, it was that he had never lasted long, in bed or out of it. She fought on, gripping consciousness with as much gusto as she could. Gaston shuddered, his fingers flexing and curling sporadically in her hair as he began to curse.

"Mh, yeah, that's it! Take me, take me deeper." He muttered, ramming so far inside her mouth her face was pressed into the nook of his groin. The smell choked her and reflexively she swallowed around him. The contraction of her throat made him groan and suddenly, he came; the milky liquid spurting from him and sliding down her throat before she could pull away and spit. It was bitter, vile tasting and she fought to disentangle herself from his grasp but he kept on until he was finished, making her swallow every last drop before sliding his limp cock from between her lips and throwing her away. Her shoulders struck a glancing blow against the counter's cupboard and she curled up on herself, her body and soul raw to the touch. He scowled and zipped his pants up, re-buckled his belt and moved to the door of the kitchen. Running a hand through his hair he checked his appearance in the mirror in the hall and smiled devilishly. He had not a care in the world. Then he turned back to her and the smile became almost feral.

"I'll be back at 1, and I'll make sure you learn exactly who you belong to." He said before turning on his heel. He paused and swung back to face her.

"Don't you forget izz-belle, you're nothing without me, you were nothing before and if you leave you will always be nothing." He said and she nodded, closing her eyes and wishing him away so she could just deal with his mess. She heard him striding away without even a backwards glance in her direction. She flinched when the door slammed and lay, curled in her misery by the stove and unable to bear the thought of moving. He would be back, and he would be hard on her. She had displeased him, like always, and she deserved it. She could never get it right. It would have been better if she was dead. At that thought she screamed, letting the long wail escape her lips as she slammed her fist repetitively into the bloody tiles. Gold had kept her alive, only for her to come back to this. What was the fucking point? It would have been better if he'd never stopped her. It would have been better if she had pulled that bloody trigger. It would have been better if he'd never come by that cabin at all.

_Run away Isabelle. Run hard and fast. _The voice was back but she couldn't listen to it now. She eyed the blood on the once pristine floor and knew he'd want it gone, whatever the mood he'd been in when it got there. Slowly, painfully she clambered to her feet. They trembled, her back flaming as the torn dress she wore gaped icily at the back, and she clutched the counter for support. Carefully she turned off the stove and moved into the hall, opening the cupboard and removing the mop and bucket. Jerkily she filled it with warm water and began to mop, sliding away the traces of curling crimson until they faded to a rosy pink, then until the pink had disappeared altogether. She hummed despairing at the sign of the off-coloured grout. It was a dull pink and no washing would remove it now.

"Not as if anyone ever visits anyway." She muttered and carefully put the cleaning supplies away. Dinner was also put away, whole and hearty just in case Gaston was still hungry when he came back. Once she'd mistakenly thrown it away after he'd stormed out… she'd never made the mistake again. Now her back was really burning, throbbing as though she were a giant light-bulb on its final legs. With the kitchen organised and her appetite gone she stumbled through the small apartment to the tiny ensuite attached to the bedroom. Once inside she stripped naked, hissing whenever the cuts on her back were touched. She immediately tossed her ruined black dress in the dustbin and opened the medicine cabinet on the wall. She winced at the sight of her face in the mirror. Even after all the times she'd been here, all the occasions she'd done this, the sight of her bloodied face always made her wince. It left her feeling ashamed and more than a little frightened. Her eyes were huge and covered in shadows, her lips puffy and swollen from her 'act' from before and there was a grotesque mask of dried blood smeared across her entire face, curling down her eyes hollows and congealed across her left cheek where it had been pressed into the floor. She looked like something out of the horror movies she'd used to go to with Ruby during high school. That was a long time ago now. Tracing the ribbons of blood she found the source which was a deep, centimetre long gash just above her left eyebrow. It was no longer bleeding but the scab was still weak. Taking out antiseptic cream, a bandage and several other things from the cupboard Isabelle started to clean her face. Slowly, bit by painful bit, the mask was eradicated. When at last her face was clear of blood Isabelle tried to turn her attention to her back but the moment she tried to twist her body and clean strips of white hot pain erupted over her skin, making her gasp and shake with their intensity. She groaned, knowing she'd have to shower and wrap. The shower was started and she stepped under the steady stream of warm water with practiced ease. Keeping her face out of the spray she allowed the water to run down over her bruised body like a benediction. Despite the god awful sting she welcomed the feel of water down her limbs, washing her clean of Gaston's filth. She could almost believe it too. She'd never truly be clean, that was an illusion that she'd long ago destroyed, but she could pretend, just for a few hours, that she was still the little bookworm her Papa would remember and that she was still pure and whole. It was with some reluctance that she shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. Staring at her battered, scar-ridden body with a grimace of disgust Isabelle shattered that illusion once more. There was nothing beautiful about Belle French anymore. It had disappeared a long time ago and nothing would ever bring it back.

_**Okay, this is heavier than I anticipated; I think I put just about every possible angst/horror moment in this chapter. I was originally going for just the suicide attempt but then I decided to bring in the abuse after remembering a prompt I received from billandsookie; ps I'm sorry it's not quite what I promised, the abuse and circumstances changed a bit but I really like the ideas I have going for this. I hope you all read it without flinching too badly, although I didn't and I wrote it. A note to everyone: THIS FIC DOES NOT CONDONE SUICIDE AS A METHOD OF DEALING WITH YOUR ISSUES, IF YOU FEEL LIKE THIS IS A PROBLEM PLEASE, PLEASE SEEK HELP! Alright, love to all and please let me know what you thought? Too dark? Not dark enough? Any pointers with where you think I could take this are also appreciated. **_

_**Incidentally if anyone is interested in the song Belle sings to Bae, it's called Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars and I think it sums up the Rumbelle relationship almost perfectly. **_


	2. My Saving Grace

Chapter Two:

_**Yay! So happy with all the reviews I'm getting for this fic. Thank you all so very much for your kind words and your enthusiasm for this story. I know a few of you have mentioned the dark content of this particular Rumbelle fic and all I can say is sorry, but it will get lighter. I promise. This chapter is definitely lighter, it's got less violence (in fact I don't think it has any) and the only thing I'd say about it is swearing and implied abuse in conversation. Other than that, it's pretty clean. **_

The harsh neon lights of the supermarket were painfully bright on Robert's weary eyes and he rubbed them tiredly as he stood silently before the imposing shelf of god only knew what (also known as children's snacks). With a loud sigh he threw the rather large packet of dried fruit into the cart beside him and hesitantly picked up two new packages from the overflowing shelf, staring between them in abject confusion. It should not be this hard to buy food for a three year old. Robert was on the point of breaking, standing in the centre of the grocery store and glaring accusingly at two identical packages of child friendly, low calorie, low GI, nut free, gluten free, additive free gloop that was apparently digestible to children under the age of 4. He'd woken up early, in spite of the fact he hated being up around dawn without probable cause, to get down to the supermarket at an unholy hour of the morning so he could avoid the inevitable questions from everyone and just avoid people in general… which was exactly how Robert liked to go about his business. In fact, being up early wasn't the problem, he could stay up all night for something important, it was the fact that to avoid the stupidity of humanity he needed to go shopping a 6 o'clock in the bloody morning. Staring down at the offending food articles in his hands Robert shook his head in bewilderment. It didn't look like any kind of food he'd ever seen before and he'd be damned if he knew what Milah had fed the boy before now. He himself could forget to eat at times, often when he was busy or in the middle of a new project with a dead line, so how could he remember to feed a growing child? Not for the first time that morning Robert found himself wishing Milah was alive, just so he could wring the answers from her before throwing her back into the fiery pits from whence she came. The she-demon was probably laughing at him right now. He could never wish Bae away, not ever, but the fact that he'd been so blind-sided by the toddler's appearance was one of the things he could have definitely lived without. Why hadn't she told him? She would have gotten all the money and support she'd ever need, just so long as Robert could see Bae. Spite. It had been pure, unadulterated spite. Shaking himself from the poisonous thoughts Robert stared at the two packets in his hands, then at Bae who was sitting innocently in the high chair of the trolley, his short legs kicking the air in a motion that made Robert chuckle. He wasn't the only Gold who was bored or confused it seemed.

"What do you think Bae, red packaging or blue?" He asked, holding them out, and the boy cocked his head as though seriously considering the question. Robert smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, earning a small scowl from the lad. Bae's scalp felt a little warm, and he'd been grouchy all night. Robert simply put it down to being in a new place. Bae pointed gruffly to the blue packet and Robert nodded.

"If it's good enough for you lad then it's good enough for me." He said and threw the supposedly edible food into depths of the trolley.

"Now Mr Gold, whatever brings you to this aisle… oh, stolen another child I see." A familiar voice called teasingly from behind him, making him freeze to the spot and cover his quiet groan. Why him? Was it because he hated nuns? He'd kiss one right now if it would save him the trouble of dealing with that woman today of all days. Robert grasped the slender cane that leant against the trolley, gripping the handle tightly and schooling his features into a perfectly indifferent smirk as he turned leisurely to find the one person in all of Storybrooke he felt he could not handle today. Most people could be bullied or bought; unfortunately Regina Mills was not one of those people easily cowed by simple insinuations or the mention of the rent. The woman could have been a shark for all her abilities to sniff out blood or trouble, it was a knack that irked him when it often interfered with his own plans. Now it involved Baden, and that was something he was not prepared to lose. He smiled pleasantly enough at the dark haired mayor, ignoring the stunning looks that deceived so many others who dealt with the woman. Fighting Regina, whilst always a bit of fun, was as dangerous as tangling with a pit of vipers, you could never quite know where the next bite would come from but you could be sure that the poison would come one way or another, regardless of how still you stood. The woman fought hard, and she fought dirty.

"Actually Mayor, this is my son Baden." He said stiffly and her perfectly plucked eyebrows shot to her hairline.

"Your son? But that would mean… ah yes, Milah. How is she?" She asked, the smirk returning quickly and the mild surprise he given her covered beneath a quick mask of amusement. He rolled his eyes.

"Dead." He said shortly and the woman stepped closer to him and Baden, her coal black eyes taking in the little lad calculatingly. She clucked sympathetically, the hollowness of it almost echoing throughout the store. She traced a blood red nail along the metal of the trolley, her beautiful face lined with feigned commiseration.

"My condolences." She muttered sweetly and he sneered. If anyone could be happier about Milah's untimely demise that himself, it would be Regina. She and Milah had never gotten along but people with a common enemy could accomplished many goals together and often during arguments with Milah Robert found himself tossed between the two witches as though it were some demented game of volleyball and he was the unfortunate ball. If it wasn't one of them tormenting him on the daily, it was the other and Regina delighted in reminding him about his late spouse's desertion almost four years ago, despite the fact Robert had never once showed any dismay about that particular episode of his life. Now she had fresh ammunition and a tired target to boot. It had to be the nun thing.

"I'll be seeing you at the council meeting on Saturday won't I Mr Gold? I'm sure someone would love to care for this little creature for you." Regina said softly, her eyes flicking between himself and Baden as though fighting the urge to laugh. Damn it! He'd forgotten all about the bloody meeting… and the bitch knew it.

"Of course." He answered instead, his teeth gritted now in the effort to keep himself calm. No good ever came from letting Regina know she'd won a round. It was better to pretend than to openly give a single step.

"I'll probably just end up blackmailing some lovely little lady from the convent; they still owe me a favour or two after all." Robert went on smoothly and Regina's smirk stiffened. Her moment of triumph lost, she sniffed testily and tossed her dark head.

"Good, just don't be late… we'd hate to have to start without you." She said snappily and he smiled thinly. Oh Regina would just love to show him up at these damn council meetings, it would be like Christmas, Easter and her birthday rolled into one glorious occasion she'd be able to remind him of continuously for the next ten years. On top of him being late, she'd get a kick out of it being because he was an inexperienced father. Sanctimonious bitch. If she couldn't bully him the woman always seemed to work herself into a situation where someone else would fuck his day right up for her personal enjoyment. He wouldn't be surprised if she had known about Bae before all this. No, she'd been too genuinely surprised for that.

"Oh dearie, you can count on it." Robert muttered and she smiled. They stared at each other tensely for a bit then Regina cocked her head and looked down at Bae sitting primly in his trolley seat. The wee lad was staring up at the glittering creature before him like he didn't quite know what to do with her. Robert couldn't say he blamed the poor little bugger, grown men had cried over less.

"I remember Henry when he was this age, such sweet hearts the lot of them." Regina murmured and lifted a hand to touch Bae's forehead. She steadfastly ignored Robert's furious growl but then jumped about a foot in the air when Bae's mouth opened wide and he let loose a deafening howl of utter dismay. From what Robert could tell, she hadn't actually touched him, but simply listening to Bae's shrieks made it seemed as though she'd stabbed him with one of her bloody red claws. He was torn between hitting the woman for her intrusiveness and giggling at her shock. The usually faultless mayor stumbled back on her tottering black heels, almost crashing into the opposite shelf as Bae's cries grew louder, and her dark hair tossed fervently as she fought to reclaim her composure. Under his bemused gaze Regina straightening the sleek black work suit she wore and scowled at Robert as she lifted her chin. In the end she simply smiled and almost pulled off a concerned look towards the screaming toddler.

"What a darling, poor thing must be exhausted." She said faux calmly and Robert moved to the trolley, placing a hand over Bae's warm head and staring at Regina with a broad smirk. The tiny head under his hand felt sweaty and soft, the brown curls shaking erratically as the boy continued to wail. Robert managed to curb his irritation, and concern, with the damned woman without letting a flicker of it cross his face. He was after all, renowned for being a heartless monster, being unemotional in the face of catastrophe was almost second-nature to him now. With a polite nod to the thoroughly distracted mayor Robert tried to sooth his screaming son.

"Yes, of course. Good day Mayor Mills." He murmured and she nodded, turning on her heel and stalking away down the aisle without another word. When the sound of her stilettos had disappeared from earshot Robert leaned in and whispered in Bae's ear, wincing as the lad continued to howl loudly. Surely the kid would know it's alright by now. He rubbed a soothing circle on Bae's back and smiled into his chocolate brown eyes.

"Good show back there lad, gave her a good startle eh?" He encouraged quietly and, despite his tears, the boy managed to look pleased as punch with his father's praise. He chortled wetly and smiled, but still didn't say a word. It struck Robert as odd that a child was so silent. Weren't toddlers supposed to be little chatterboxes? It wasn't as if Bae didn't make noise, evidently he could scream and he would laugh given the right opportunities, but Robert yearned to hear the little boy actually speak. It worried Robert that he didn't seem to even try. Perhaps it was something to do with Milah's death or even about being with Robert himself. It was not unusual for people to be struck dumb around him but it hurt to think his own son felt too scared to speak to him. He was at loath to involve a psychologist but if it continued for too long, he'd see to it Bae found the right treatment. He shook himself and returned to the task at hand, namely, finding enough supplies to support himself and a three year old boy. The sniffling and hiccupping behind him continued and he groaned irritable.

"Bae come on lad, she's gone now." He said roughly and only succeeded in making the little guy begin to cry again. Robert covered his face in his hands and collapsed against the supermarket shelf. Oh yes, it was because he hated nuns; only that could explain the constant state of fuck-you karma was currently deciding to fling his way.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He muttered quietly and looked between his fingers to see Bae's red face scrunched up tighter than a cork screw. Sighing heavily he reached out and picked the little boy out of his chair, tucking him into his right hip and pressing a palm to his forehead in concern. The lad's skin was hot to touch, and not just from screaming. Although flushed from yelling, the heat felt un-natural and Robert quickly felt the boy's chest. It burned as well and he grimaced worriedly. There was a layer of sweat covering the wee child and as Robert watched the boy's cries began to swell again despite his father's attentions. He'd gotten a fever after all. Growling in frustration Robert watched in distress as Bae wiggled and sweated in his grasp, his face flushed as his body grew warm in his father's grasp.

"Alright Bae, we're almost done now. We'll get you some panadol in a moment okay? Come on Bae it's going to be alright." He cooed, hurriedly beginning to push the trolley down the aisle and into the next one. He began to choose stuff at random now, finding the things of brightest colours and lowest sugar content. Bae's cries were probably attracting attention but Robert was powerless to do anything but comfort him with words. As he stood staring at the supermarket shelf, gripped in a panicked despair and supporting a wailing child in his arms, a soft hand fell on his sleeve and he whirled to berate the person foolish enough to disturb him. Only to stutter to a halt when the last person he'd expected to see stared back up at him with a pair of extraordinary aquamarine eyes.

_OoOoOoO_

It had been a long night for Isabelle French. In spite of her exhaustion she'd lain rigidly awake in her bed, terrified of Gaston's inevitable return and eager for the night to just be over so she could deal with the repercussions by herself. She'd have a full day to herself, to proverbially lick her wounds alone and recover for another night. Laying there Isabelle feared dozing off, giving Gaston another chance to catch her unawares, and so kept her itching eyes open despite the urge she felt to close them. Only to have 1 o'clock roll around without him coming home, then 2 o'clock came and went and finally Isabelle dozed off fitfully at around 4 o'clock in the morning with no word from Gaston as to where he was or when he felt he wished to return. Not that she minded. She'd awakened with the dawn, like always, and gazed around a silent house. There was only a bathroom, kitchen and two bedrooms in the apartment (one of which was used for storage) so she could immediately tell she was the only person in the flat by simply listening to the sounds of the building. The scabs along her back had tightened painfully as she rolled out of bed, pointlessly reminding her of the horrors of the night before, and she lifted a hand to her forehead to feel the plaster and gauze she'd placed there. Carefully she'd peeled away layers and reapplied them just as cautiously, infection was a bitch Gaston was not willing to pay for. Dressing in an old pair of jeans and a black, long sleeved button up, Isabelle avoided the mirror in the hall and moved straight to the kitchen to leave a note to Gaston about her whereabouts. After wishing him a good days sleep of course. Shopping was an ideal past-time for Isabelle. Gaston detested it, often saying he found it degrading for a man to do it, and so left her be whenever she went. It provided a rare chance for Isabelle to interact with the other members of Storybrooke, even if she never said anything to anyone she could pretend to immerse herself in their world for just a few hours before hurrying back to the apartment to begin cleaning again. With her purse and canvas bags tucked under her arm and a pair of old ballet flats clutched in her right hand Isabelle made off towards the supermarket, marvelling at the chilly beauty of a town at dawn. It was as if the place were asleep, trapped in an enchantment of dew and weakly floating sunlight that covered everything in sight with a fine layer of delicate crystals and sparkles. Isabelle loved to wander the town early in the morning. It became a daily ritual, to walk freely amongst the deserted streets when no one was about and see the magic of the night still clung desperately to the earth despite the rushing dawn that had come like a cavalry charge to sweep it away. It was a twilight zone, one that was not quite day and not quite night, some transcended place in between the two that was so painfully picturesque it made Isabelle's heart ache with longing. She had no particular reason to enjoy the dawn, she'd never been a morning person during her childhood or teenage years, so it was odd that she'd developed a liking for her morning walks now.

_**Perhaps it's because you long to find something like you, something stuck between the day and the night. **_Isabelle jumped now, alone and afraid of this new voice that carried through her head like a hot breeze, scenting of danger far off but exhilarating as only the threat of fire could make a person feel. She shuddered and moved on, trying to ignore it. She rounded the corner of her street and saw the supermarket standing open, looking deserted and lit up with it usual flickering neon lights. She smiled thinly and made her way to the automatic front doors, only to find herself nearly bowled over by a stunningly pale woman in pitch black stilettos, matching business suit and ruby red lipstick. Isabelle had just enough time to fling herself out of the woman's way and watched in bemused irritation as the arrogant creature tossed her ebony hair over one shoulder and stormed off, apparently in a fouler mood than most. She was gorgeous but there was a cruelty to her face that Isabelle saw briefly before it disappeared from sight and drove away from the store. Maybe she just wasn't a morning person, Isabelle thought pensively and shrugged as she turned to enter the store. Leaving her ballet flats by the door, she'd put them on later when she'd finished, Isabelle unfolded her canvas bag and stepped inside the air conditioned grocery store. The first thing she noticed was the noise. It was harrowing, a loud and incessant wail that grew louder and louder the longer she stood there. The young man at the check-out was glancing warily into the maze of shelves as though worried about intervening; which was strange. His eyes flickered to hers and he nodded a polite greeting, knowing her on sight as one of his regular crack of dawn customers. She made her way past him and, wincing at the cries that were echoing around the place, began to fill her canvas bag with groceries. It was a child's cry, that much was obvious, but there was something wrong with it in a way that Isabelle simply couldn't place. She moved leisurely through the shelves, on edge as she grew closer and closer to the source of the noise. Surely the parent would be doing something before now, no one would let their child scream like that without trying to stop it. She rounded a final corner and froze, her eyes fixed on the two people standing about half way down. Or rather, one was standing half way down the aisle whilst holding the other protectively in his arms as he stared at the shelves in a manner that made Isabelle's heart clench sympathetically. Now she understood the young man's hesitance and the child's continuing cries. Not a single male in the building had a clue what to do. Isabelle shouldered the canvas bag in her hand and walked quickly down the aisle, reaching the pair just as Robert ran a trembling hand through his hair. Isabelle's face softened and she instantly stretched out to grasp Mr Gold's arm. He whirled to face her, his eyes full of wrath, then froze when he recognised her. The fire left his stance and he placed a small, weak smirk to his face.

"Good morning Isabelle…" his eyes flickered across her face, noting everything and making her shuffled awkwardly as his eyes darkened frighteningly again. The gauze on her forehead seemed to tingle with the weight of his stare and she smiled. Waving dismissively towards the bandage Isabelle smiled.

"I fell down the stairs last night, I've always been clumsy. I've broken every bone in my arms and legs at least twice," _**No thanks to Gaston. **_She curbed her shock and continued.

"And it was dark when I got home, I miscounted the stairs and hit my forehead on the banister… no big deal." She said firmly and looked concernedly at the screaming Bae who was still wailing like a tiny banshee in his father's arms.

"What's wrong?" She asked worriedly and Mr Gold's suspicious look disappeared underneath an avalanche of concern for the toddler in his grasp. He stared down and pressed a hand to Bae's forehead, which was flushed and covered in a layer of sweat that even Isabelle could see from a metre away. Looks like the boy had gotten a fever after all. She groaned sympathetically.

"Give him here." She ordered and Mr Gold looked up at her, obviously startled. The screaming child in his arms paused at the rough sound coming from her and the noise gave her a moment's peace to speak.

"I'm trying to help you Mr Gold and the longer you stand there arguing with me, the longer Bae's going to suffer for it." She said tersely and, after a moment's hesitation Mr Gold handed Isabelle his son. The little boy squirmed and whimpered pitifully but Isabelle held him firmly, running a hand over his burning skin and clucking worriedly.

"I'll be right back. Go pay for those and I'll meet you at the register." She said and, without another word, dumped her canvas bag in the trolley with her purse and sprinted down the aisle with the screaming child in her arms. She skidded on the smooth tiles, wincing as the rapid movement tore at her tender back, but kept on until she reached the refrigeration section. She opened the nearest door, the cold air making Bae's cries falter for a brief moment, before wrenching the smallest packet of frozen peas from the shelf and pressing them to the boy's forehead and cheeks. He squawked in shock, the freezing vegetables obviously making his feverish flesh burn with cold, but soon began to press his hot face into the cold packet.

"Yeah, that's better isn't it?" She cooed and he whimpered, pressing into her neck and forcing the hand that held the peas closer to his sin. She smiled and set off for the counter, her ears recovering slightly as Bae's wails died down a bit and instead became loud sniffles and sobs.

"Almost there little man, almost there." She murmured comfortingly and came around the corner to see Mr Gold standing on the other side of the counter, glowering threateningly at the young man and waving her through irritably. Isabelle paused, Bae swinging idly on her hip.

"But I have to pay…" She began quietly but he scowled. If she'd thought no one could be scarier than Gaston when they glowered, she'd been so very wrong. If she hadn't known his anger wasn't aimed at her and was more a product of his frustrated concern for his child Isabelle would have bolted from the store here and then but as it was, she did know and she understood.

"It's dealt with, now come on." He order gruffly and Isabelle's gaze flickered towards the poor cashier. His spotted cheeks were three shades of green and he refused to meet anyone's gaze as she passed through and came to stand beside Gold.

"You paid? With my money? For my groceries?" She asked slowly but carefully, watching his face closely as he turned to look at her in bewilderment. He nodded. She cocked a brow sceptically and he threw up his hands.

"I paid alright, everything has been dealt with." Gold said exasperatedly and the truth of his words could plainly be heard. Isabelle just had to make sure.

"You're sure?" She asked and he rolled his eyes.

"Don't you trust me Belle?" Gold asked and she snorted.

"Not a wit." She retorted and he couldn't seem to help the small bark of laughter.

"Good, now come on dearie." He muttered and Isabelle looked back once more to look at the poor boy before nodding reluctantly He nodded curtly and set off, limping quickly out the door and asking her to follow. She bent and picked up her shoes by the door as she passed, earning another whimper from Bae.

"Hey, it's alright little man." She said and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead without thinking. She froze, looking over at Gold's rigid back as he quickly loaded the car and opened the passenger door for her. She swallowed and shook her head.

"I shouldn't, I should go." She said shakily, aware of the consequences of the last time she'd accepted a ride from him but his amber eyes were filled with such a desperate kind of pleading she couldn't resist. He was gazing at her from under thick brown and grey-flecked hair, those strange but enigmatic eyes glowing as he cocked his head imploringly towards her. Isabelle sighed and hoisted Bae on higher up on her hip, bending to clamber into the car seat and rearranging the poor little boy so he was more comfortable on her lap. She would have felt safer if he was in the back but his arms wrapped themselves around her neck and she was sure she couldn't have prized them apart with a crow-bar. There was a stickiness to her back and she groaned as she realised her cuts had opened during her mad dash through the grocery store. Fantastic. Closing her eyes she began to run her hand over Bae's forehead soothingly, whispering in his ear and keeping the rapidly warming pea packet to his forehead. When she reopened them she recognised Storybrooke hospital at the far end of the road and stiffened. Gold must have noticed because he stiffened too.

"If you are uncomfortable, I will take him in alone. I thank you Isabelle for helping me, and him but I won't force you to associate with us if that's what you're afraid of." He said softly and Isabelle glanced at him astonishment. He thought she was worried about her reputation? After she'd tried to commit suicide the day before? It was absurd but it made her wonder how many people had seen the man she had yesterday afternoon. The concerned, inexperienced father. The kind man who saved young women from suicide. The strange but oddly understanding person who didn't rat said girl out to a host of police officers who'd take her in for questioning that would only embarrass everyone even involved. No one but her it seemed. She drew a shaking breath and swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"I will come with you… and Bae. It's not about you Mr Gold, I just don't like hospitals all that much." She said cautiously and he seemed to consider this quietly, without a single word from that moment to the time he parked the car. Then he was out of the vehicle faster than Isabelle could have thought possible for a man with a cane, yet one moment he was next to her then next he was opening her door and ushering her out of the car. His hand rested on the curve of her back and although the sensation was pleasant she drew back instinctively from his touch. Her spine fritted painfully and she regretted her movement when his face immediately became guarded and closed off to her. It was as if a steel door slammed shut between them and she could see the coldness that everyone else did. She gazed up at him apologetically and tried to take his hand.

"Sorry." She said thickly but he shook his head, his eyes on the twisting child she carried. Isabelle sighed but turned the pea package over to try and give Bae more coolness. It was now useless, since the heat had sunk through, but Isabelle kept the mildly warm packet to Bae's scorching forehead as they crossed the parking lot and entered the hospital. People were rushing about despite the early hour and Isabelle kept her face on the squeakily clean linoleum floor as she followed Gold through the crowd to the nurse's desk.

"I need a doctor!" He ordered sharply and the poor mousy-hair woman in the booth jumped slightly as she gazed up to answer him. Her blue eyes widened fretfully and she immediately pulled the phone to her ear and ordered for a doctor to be brought out ASAP. There was a distinct tremble to her voice.

"Please sit down over there Mr Gold, Doctor Whale will be with you shortly." She said breathlessly and Isabelle could see her hand was shaking slightly as she pointed them towards the waiting room chairs behind them. She immediately sat down with Bae, holding him to her and murmuring to him quietly, but Gold couldn't seem to sit still. He paced the floor directly in front of her and after a while Isabelle clutched at his suit front to stop him from making her too dizzy to concentrate.

"Mr Gold calm down, you heard the nurse. Doctor Whale will be out at any moment." She said encouragingly and smiled when he threw himself down in the chair beside her, gripping the handle of his cane tightly between two hands and gritting his teeth in the effort to remain in control.

"You look just like my Papa did when I got my appendix out. I was seven and it burst when I fell off the monkey bars at school… unfortunate timing I know. Anyway, he couldn't sit still the whole time I was in here for surgery and the nurses thought they'd have to sedate him after he started threatening to sue them if I got hurt, apparently he got quite agitated." She said and laughed quietly. To her disappointment Gold just looked over at her in a mixture of incredulity and puzzlement.

"Oh I won't just sue them Miss French, I'll kill them." He said seriously and Isabelle worried slightly at his tone. She could almost have believed him, and it frightened her. She ran a hand through Bae's curls and gripped Gold's hand with her other, squeezing it gently. She noticed the dried blood on his fingertips and rubbed them inconspicuously, disguising it as a comforting gesture.

"Don't say that Mr Gold. Please don't. Bae's going to be alright. He's just got a fever; which may have been dangerous during the fifteenth century but is now commonly treated with strong antibiotics and a good night's sleep." Isabelle informed him sternly and he nodded wearily. His face sank into his hands and Isabelle leaned into him, resting their shoulders together as they waited. He seemed startled but she just smiled.

"I know that, I do, but I just…"

"Worry? I can see that. He's lucky to have a father such as you." Isabelle told him kindly and both of them fell into silence as Doctor Whale approached, white coat flaring and a clipboard in his hand.

"Mr Gold, I heard you needed me?" He asked worriedly, his face usually pale, and Gold nodded curtly. Isabelle wondered at the amount of people automatically wary of the man. Perhaps she was an oddity atop of puzzle but she felt neither threatened nor uncomfortable around Mr Gold, which was evidently a rare thing going by the sheer number of people that treated him as though he were a plague-ridden guard dog. With equal measures of fear and disgust.

"It's my son." Gold said shortly and indicated towards the whimpering child in Isabelle's arms. The handsome blonde doctor jumped but immediately flicked into professional mode as he took in Bae's feverish form.

"Of course, if you will kindly follow me." He said and they did, stepping lively to keep up with his brisk pace. Isabelle sat down in the office and whispered to Bae.

"Now Bae, you need to turn around and let the doctor see you." She encouraged and slowly, he turned to face Whale, all the while keeping a tight grip on Isabelle's neck. The doctor then took his temperature, checked his throat and nose, and recorded a few things down on the computer.

"Any medical conditions we should know about?" He asked Mr Gold and the man appeared stumped. Isabelle glanced between the two men and swallowed. Finally Gold shook his head.

"I'm not sure, I've only gained custody of him yesterday morning… the rest of his paperwork should be coming through by the end of the week." He said quietly to the doctor who nodded and wrote something down quickly.

"In which case we don't know if he's allergic to penicillin. Alright… take this to the chemist, it's a prescription to last until those records come. Give these to him every four hours, with or without food it doesn't matter. If the fever hasn't died in time, come and see me and we'll try something a little stronger. All I can say is make sure he rests adequately and you keep his fluids up, he's burning quite steadily but with the medicine he should be alright by tomorrow afternoon." Whale said confidently and Gold stood. He held out his hand and the two men shook briefly.

"Thank you." Gold said gratefully and Whale nodded, his face pleasantly curious as he stared between the three of them. The older man nodded for Isabelle to follow him quickly and she stood to move out of the room.

"Uh, Miss?" Whale asked cautiously and Isabelle flinched. Paused in the doorway she looked back at the blonde man and the group stopped. She cocked her head tentatively.

"Yes?" She asked cautiously and he raised an eyebrow.

"Do you need a check-up yourself?" He asked, eyeing the plaster across her forehead and her semi-slumped posture. She smiled and shook her head.

"No." She said shortly and made to leave as fast as she could without starting a panic. In doing so she became conscious of her back facing the two men and thanked whatever deity existed she was wearing black. Gold hurried after her and stopped her in the deserted corridor between the nurse's desk and Whale's consulting room.

"What the hell was that?" He asked furiously and Isabelle scowled.

"Watch your language, he's young but you're his main source of influence now." She reminded him, glancing down at Bae who was gazing between them with glassy brown eyes. Isabelle sighed and kept on, only to find her shoulder seized again in his grasp. She flinched but turned to face him calmly.

"See, that's what I'm talking about… what's going on Belle?" He demanded sharply and Isabelle blanched. No one called her Belle anymore, it was her Papa's sole name for her growing up but Gaston had detested it and called her nothing but Izzy-belle. Now Mr Gold called her Belle and it made her want to cry and sing for joy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again she looked into the concerned honey-coloured eyes peering down at her and shook her head.

"Nothing. I just like my personal space." She said softly and he frowned. He could tell she was lying she realised with a small start, then slapped herself internally. Of course he did, he wasn't a complete idiot, he could piece together some things and considering the way they'd met… god only knew what conclusions he was drawing about her.

"Really Mr Gold, I'm fine." She said stoically and he sighed.

"Very well dearie, if you're sure." He said reluctantly and she nodded resolutely.

"100%." Isabelle replied and he pursed his lips. Steering her out of the hospital and next door to the chemist he purchased Bae's medicine and instantly gave his son the paracetamol. Bae's fussed a little then settled, resting his sweaty forehead into Isabelle's neck. The little boy's trust in her made Isabelle's heart clench painfully in her chest and she sighed heavily as they stepped into the car park.

"Can I drive you home?" Gold asked her politely and Isabelle shook her head quickly.

"No, I'll walk." She murmured and he looked aghast.

"Clark's is on the opposite side of Storybrooke, I've dragged you out here, so I might as well see you home after all the trouble you've gone through to help us." He exclaimed and Isabelle shook her head. Better to walk than suffer another night like the last one.

"No, thank you Mr Gold. It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, because I do, but I simply cannot accept." She said and moved to tuck a protesting Bae into the back seat of the car and retrieve her groceries from the boot. She looked to see Mr Gold standing awkwardly by the driver door, his cane twirling slightly in his grasp as he watched her. She smiled, hoisted the canvas bags high and waved as she set off, fighting the urge to look back on the astonished man's face. She reached the end of the street and rubbed at the itchiness that had been steadily building behind her shoulder, drawing her hand away to see the dried blood beneath her fingernails. She'd need to shower again when she got home and hope Gaston was too sleepy to notice.

"Shit." She muttered and began to trot, picking up her pace as she crossed the town of Storybrooke, Maine. It wasn't that the town was big, it could be an inconvenience to be on the other side of it then you wanted to be, but Isabelle enjoyed her walks and even smiled at a few people as they passed by. Her stomach rumbled and she realised with a small start that she hadn't eaten breakfast yet. She inwardly debated the odds of cooking at home in peace or chancing an eat out when a young woman she recognised walked out of a nearby café, a cardboard sign tucked under her slender arm and a brilliant splash of red streaking through her long dark hair. She flicked it out of her face and straightened, gazing around at the street. Her brightly painted mouth fell open as she spotted Isabelle standing just a few metres away.

"Isabelle?" She gasped and Isabelle felt the colour drain from her face.

"Ruby." She muttered and tried to move quickly past the other woman, only to be blocked by the slim brunette who smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around Isabelle ecstatically.

"Oh my god, Isabelle! I can't believe it, you came back… oh I have to tell Granny. Please, please come inside." She begged but Isabelle shook her head anxiously.

"Ruby I can't, I have to go." She said and the brunette's expression fell. She held Isabelle out at arms-length and her eyes began to snap with growing anger. Once again, Isabelle's forehead prickled.

"Who did that?" She demanded furiously, reaching out towards the bandage on Isabelle's forehead and causing the shorter woman to fall back defensively.

"Don't Ruby, it's not worth it." Isabelle spat and Ruby's eyes filled with tears as she gazed at her long ago, best friend in horror.

"It's him isn't it? He does this a lot doesn't he?" She demanded murderously and Isabelle bit her lip miserably.

"Just… I can't do this now Ruby, it was nice seeing you but I have to go." She muttered and tried again to move around and continue on her way homeward. As it turned out, Ruby Lucas was having none of it.

"No, you're coming inside, you're going to have a square meal and you're going to tell me about it." She ordered, taking Isabelle around the shoulders and escorting her inside the almost deserted diner. Granny Lucas was behind the counter and looked up to start berating her grand-daughter for something or other, only for her expression to drop, much like the younger woman's, as she spotted who Ruby was escorting inside.

"Isabelle!" She cried and moved around the counter to grasp the trembling woman's hands and press a kiss to her cheek.

"Ice tea and round of freshly made pancakes, I remember a certain someone used to love them." She said sternly and whisked off towards the kitchen with one last squeeze of Isabelle's hands. Powerless against the combined forces of the Lucas women, Isabelle found herself being seated down in a booth at the back and a frowning Ruby sitting across from her. She avoided the other woman's gaze and fixed hers instead upon a spot on the counter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Is this blood?" Ruby said suddenly and Isabelle's head snapped up to see the woman staring at the inside of her own arm, where a patch of copper coloured crusting could be seen. Isabelle swallowed and covered her face in her hands.

"Ruby please don't." She begged and her friend's eyes snapped to her once more. The brown orbs began to shine with tears and she reached across the table to take Isabelle's hands in hers.

"Isabelle, we were best friends in high school… we could tell each other anything. Why have you gone away? Why do let him do this to you?" She demanded and Isabelle ducked her head pathetically.

"Because Ruby, I'm not strong anymore." She said softly and felt a single tear slip out from beneath her eyelid and trail down her cheek, dropping to the table between them and glistening there like a lost diamond.

"I don't believe that Isabelle, not for one moment… you are the strongest person I know, you were always the smartest and you never gave up on the things you loved… or the people." She added quietly and Isabelle flinched.

"Come on Isabelle, your father is in here every day asking if you've come back. He sits over there, in your old booth, and waits for you to come waltzing through that doorway. Why won't you go back to him?" She asked earnestly and Isabelle groaned, imagining the heart break she'd caused in her beloved Papa in this state.

"He can't ever see me like this Ruby. It would break his heart… and mine." She said brokenly and Ruby scowled fiercely at her from across the table.

"His heart is already broken Isabelle, you needn't worry about that." She snapped and the blue eyed woman sniffed defeatedly.

"Then it'll destroy him. Look at me Ruby, do you honestly think I'm worth all that pain?" She demanded and her friend sat back in bewilderment.

"It's not a question of worth Isabelle, it's a question of family and what it means to you. Can you honestly sit by and let your whole life go by without ever seeing him again or will you leave that shit for bricks boyfriend of yours and actually start to live?" Ruby's voice had turned into a hiss by the end of this little spiel and Isabelle glowered at her as Granny approached, a tray of pancakes and a cold drink of iced tea and lemon in her hand. She placed each down in front of Isabelle and watched her like a hawk until she reluctantly lifted her knife and fork, cut a slab of pancake and put it in her mouth. Despite her glower Isabelle felt her eyes fluttered shut as the buttery bundles of dough melted on her tongue and smiled appreciatively as the sweet syrup soothed her raw throat. She looked up at Granny and nodded gratefully.

"They're as marvellous as always Granny." She said softly and the old, iron-haired woman smiled worriedly as she reached out to touch Isabelle's hair gently.

"Thank you my dear but…" She broke of and shook her head. Sending a firm glance towards her beautiful, raven-haired granddaughter, she walked off to attend customers now moving through the door. Ruby sighed.

"I'll have to go soon but Isabelle, please stay until you've finished." She said and Isabelle bit her lip, gazing between the delicious pancakes and the door. Finally she nodded and Ruby smiled. She rounded the table and hugged Isabelle gently.

"Please just think about it Isabelle… he loves you so much." Ruby whispered before moving off with a broad smile to welcome new customers. Isabelle ducked her head and tried to eat in peace, ignoring everyone and keeping to herself as much as possible. The pancakes were delicious, the ice tea was absolutely wonderful. She'd forgotten just how much she enjoyed Granny's wonderfully brewed iced tea and smiled as she noticed the glass was empty well before the plate. The decent meal made her feel happy and fat, something she wasn't when she really paused to think about it. She opened her purse to leave the bill and felt her mouth fall open in shock. On her way out that morning she'd taken the 25 dollars Gaston permitted her to have for shopping every three days. Every single note was just as it had been when she'd exited the apartment that morning. Which meant Gold had deliberately lied to her about paying for her groceries and that she was now even further indebted to him. She stood angrily, tossed the money on the table, plus tips, and stormed from the café. She barrelled past several stunned people and rounded the fence that enclosed the café, running straight into a moving mountain of flesh. She bounced off, gripping her canvas bags determinedly and just managing to keep her feet. The man mumbled an apology.

"I'm so sorry Miss, are you alright?" Maurice French asked and Isabelle felt her breath leave her in one strong whoosh. For a moment she stared into her Papa's piercing blue eyes, the same ones she'd inherited, and then bolted past him before he could say another word.

"Belle? Belle! BELLE!" The shouts behind her gave her feet wings and she pounded pavement as she sprinted across town, tears blurring her visions as she entered her street and raced to the apartment door. Three flights of stairs later she was outside the apartment and her key was in the lock before she could even think to pause. The door swung open and she just managed to catch it before it crashed into the wall. She froze and listened breathlessly. Loud snores could be heard and she knew that Gaston had finally come home. Making her way through the house she entered the kitchen silently to see the plate of food she'd prepared shoved in the sink without a care and her note scrunched up and throw against the wall in the general direction of the bin. The fact that he was sleeping meant he was a) satisfied to wait for the night b) too exhausted to stay up and berate her and c) drunk. All of which could work for her favour tonight, if she played her cards right. Silently she unpacked her bag, removing the meat, milk and few vegetables that Gaston allowed her to purchase. Well, it wasn't as if she'd actually purchased them this morning but what Gaston didn't know wouldn't hurt him. She packed the fridge and cocked her head curiously. In the bottom of the canvas bag was a packet of frozen peas, the same ones she'd used to cool Bae's forehead and she sighed happily, placing them to the back of the freezer like some secret memory that only she would understand. She finished unpacking and scrubbed the abandoned plate in the sink, drying it and putting it way. The kitchen was spotless, thanks to her clean up job the night before, and she dared not start the vacuum whilst Gaston slept. So instead, Isabelle sat down at the kitchen table and folded her arms on the waxy surface. Her forehead came to rest of the fronts of her forearms and she sighed sleepily. Her exhaustion overtook her and she smiled as she remembered that, once again, the voices had not been heard once.

_OoOoOoO_

Robert chuckled as he returned to his car for the final time and found Isabelle's pair of black shoes abandoned under the front passenger seat. He picked them up and perused them curiously. They were old, faded and looked ready to fall apart at any moment. He wondered if it was a money problem that made her edgy then dismissed it, she'd demanded to pay for the food that morning and she wouldn't have if it was money that was her concern. He knew greed when he saw it, and desperation too, she had been neither those things just justifiably upset that she wasn't doing the right thing. Odd and very niave he decided. He carried the shoes inside his dastardly pink house, a historically significant property he'd purchased from the American Antiquity Society's large supply of expensive houses without bothering to read the criteria listed as a condition of ownership. As a lawyer he should have known better. He was not to damage any part of the house or surrounding gardens, only to the extent of premeditated or intentional abuse, unpredictable occurrences like weather or crime where insured by the AAS. On top of this he could not change the outward appearance of the house at all. The inside could be renovated if, and only if, he sought and gain whole hearted permission from the higher ups of the ASS and he could not be bothered gaining the appropriate permission from a bunch of stuffy, geriatrics whose sole purpose in life seemed to be preserving houses no one gave to shits about. Why did it have to be pink? Pink was not a colour people associated with fear and it certainly made him wince every time someone came to visit him, often remarking on his choice of colour (if Regina felt particularly vengeful). Other than that, the property really had no faults. It was a comfortable sized Queen Anne style mansion, with two floors and extensive gardens on all sides. There was a shed he had added on some years ago (the stuck up pricks in the ASS had never said it was illegal to renovate on the gardens, just not damage them) in which he tinkered away on projects from the shop too big to handle in the back room or private projects he wanted a bit of privacy to complete. He wondered if, one day, Bae might enjoy spending his afternoons in there with him, watching him tinker or even giving him a hand if he wished. The thought made Robert smile fondly as his gaze drifted upwards to the ceiling, through which he knew his son now slept fitfully. The baby monitor, whilst conspicuously placed on the marble toped kitchen counter, was a wonderful way for Robert to know Bae's condition without punishing his leg repetitively by trekking up and down the stairs periodically to check on him. A single, lusty cry would bring him up there but for now he simply decided to relax downstairs and wait for the fever to pass. The medicine must have had sedatives in it, because regardless of how hot Bae must have been the wee lad had popped off in the car and hadn't even woken as Robert laboured up the stairs with him. The room Robert had place him in was makeshift, since he was still organising the house for a toddler's living requirements, but it had a comfortable single bed, a chest of draws and a pale blue feature wall that seemed soothing enough for a small boy. It was carpeted and towards the front of the house, a large window looking out over the street. Robert would see to it that Bae received a proper room within the next few days, he'd already ordered refurbishments suitable for toddlers for the rest of the house; toys and other such necessities had been ordered and were promised to come by Saturday. Honestly, Robert couldn't wait. He was just sitting down, a hot cup of tea in his hand and newspaper clutched under his other arm, when the doorbell went off. Praying for serenity Robert irritably threw the paper down a stormed to the door.

"What? I'm am not particularly in the mood for deals, requests or inquiries, if it's urgent leave a detailed description at the shop and I'll get back to you." He shouted as he approached and flung the door wide to see an enormous man standing on his front porch. Although not as big as the hired help Robert occasional sought for repossessions or heavy lifting at the shop, the man before him was vast and tall enough to stand several inches over Robert's head. This already set him on edge and he scowled through the fly screen at his unwanted visitor who was twisting his hands in knots with a half desperate look on his face.

"Please Mr Gold, you have to help me." The man said and the thick accent marring his words was oddly familiar. He couldn't quite place it though and frowned complacently at the man.

"Who are you?" He demanded and clicked his finger as the name came to him.

"Maurice French." He murmured and the man other nodded.

"Yes, and I've come to you for help." He said and Robert chuckled.

"I'm sure you have, I wasn't expecting you to want to chat with me over afternoon tea dearie." He muttered teasingly and the man sighed.

"Will you help?" He asked and Robert shook his head.

"No, I'm extraordinarily busy." He said and the man sunk down in despair.

"She's my daughter, my only child Gold. You've got to help me get her back. Please, help me get my Isabelle back and I'll pay you anything I have." The man begged and Robert froze in the act of shutting the door in the grovelling man's face. He'd heard the connection, after all there weren't that many Frenchs in Storybrooke, but if Maurice was Isabelle's father then this was a different situation altogether. It was the same accent, Australian if he thought about it long enough. He unlocked the door and stepped aside.

"Come in." He said and Maurice stumbled inside, thanking Gold so much he almost tripped on the Persian rug on the hallway floor and went reeling into the antique cabinet by the stairs. Robert flinched but maintained his patient exterior as he guided the man into the living room. If it weren't for the drugs Bae was on Robert would have been worried about the man's intrusion waking him. As it was he was only concerned about the man breaking something the bloody ASS would sue him outright for. Blood sucking parasites the lot of them, he thought darkly. Sitting down in his seat, and not offering the man refreshments, Robert got straight to the point.

"What's this all about?" He demanded, eying the man over his cane and watching the bear that was Maurice French sweat and twist under his stare.

"It's as I said, Isabelle's my daughter and I haven't spoken to her in almost five years." Maurice murmured and Gold felt his eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline. That would mean Isabelle hadn't spoken to her father since she was about 16, an age notorious for its mistakes and scarring memories. He nodded and indicated for the man to go on. Maurice sighed.

"She's a good girl my Belle. She's sweet and kind to everyone but she's far too niave, too willing to see the good in others even when it's not there." Maurice said and his knuckles whitened as he folded the fingers over each other in his lap and tried to collect himself.

"When she was fifteen she met a boy at school, Gaston Marsh. He was trouble, though he hid it well, and within a few months he had her wrapped around his little finger. She ran off with him when she was sixteen and they got an apartment together downtown… she doesn't call, she doesn't talk to me on the street and for about three years I thought she'd skipped town. I saw her today though and… god help me!" He exclaimed and buried his face in his hands. His massive shoulders shook and he stared up at Gold with red rimmed blue eyes Robert had only ever seen on one other person in his life. Isabelle. The wretched man ran a hand through his hand and tried to speak, swallowing several times before the feat could be accomplished.

"She looked like a ghost, she was so small and pale. She was just standing there, looking at me and she had this bandage on her forehead. It was like she was afraid of everything around her, even me. That's not Belle, that's not my Belle. She's not afraid of anything; at least she wasn't before she went with him." Maurice said and Robert was beginning to feel a little ill. He'd guessed as much. From the limited time he'd spent with Isabelle he'd gathered almost 90% of the intel her father had just informed him. She was kind, far too kind to perfect strangers, and she had seen something in him that no one else seemed to. Kind eyes, she'd said in that cabin and he wondered if he did have them or if that's just what she saw. To add to that, her dedication to Bae and her weird moments of terror seemed ill fitted to the woman who'd been prepared to blast her brains out. Suicide took its own kind of courage, a lot of people failed to commit because they backed out at the last moment but he remembered the soulless, hopeless look in her aquamarine eyes and shuddered slightly. He'd said that she wouldn't have done it, but he'd been lying through his teeth. He'd been facing a woman with nothing to lose and it had been a hard fight to bring her back from that edge. He realised he'd been staring into space for a minute or so and that Maurice was gazing at him worriedly. He cleared his throat.

"I don't know how I can be of any assistance Mr French. I also don't know what it is you would have me do, seems to me the situation is something you need to resolve between yourselves." He murmured and Maurice sighed.

"That's just the problem, she won't talk to me at all. She just about flew in her haste to get away from me this morning." The man admitted painfully and Robert winced for him. That must have hurt, to have your own child run from you like you were some kind of monster. He didn't know what he'd do if Bae ever did it. He put down his cane and raised his cup of tea to his lips, considering the conundrum before him. On the one hand, Isabelle was her own woman free to make her choices whatever consequences they created however, on the other hand, like Maurice Robert sensed or rather knew that the girl was in trouble. She was special, she was supportive to him and she cared for Bae, all of which were good enough reasons for involving himself in her business. He could become close to her now, he had a logical, clear thinking reason to become attached rather than simply being an old pervert. He nodded slowly.

"Very well Mr French, I will see what I can do." He said and Maurice's eyes filled with gratitude. Gushing excitedly the man left, shouting his thanks over his shoulder and driving away. Robert went back to his chair and sighed, pressing his fingertips into his pounding temples. The tea was now cold, his mood was in turmoil and just as he tried to relax the baby monitor started to wail horribly from the kitchen. Bae it seemed, had finally awaken. Pulling himself painfully from the soft armchair Robert hauled himself upstairs and entered his son's room. Bae was writhing in his bed, his eyes streaming and his arms held towards the door desperately until his father appeared. He wailed but it was more one of recognition that pain and Robert moved over to the small bed, picked the wee lad from the bed and sat him down on his knee. He stroked the tumbling curls from Baden's forehead, feeling the flushed skin for a slight change. There was none that he could tell but Bae seemed at least a little less teary. He tucked the boy's head back against his shoulder and rubbed soothing circles over his back, as his father had during his own childhood. He distantly remembered his mother but she'd left him and his father when Robert was still incredibly young. It was ironic that now, in the next generation, the cycle continued. Bae would never know his mother's touch or really remember her face, but he would always feel the hollowness of not having her there, of not feeling a constant feminine presence nearby. Sighing heavily Robert soothed his ill child to sleep, waiting patiently until the hiccups and whimpers died and were replaced by a fitful slumber he wished Bae didn't have to go through. He didn't move from the bed, instead he kicked off his shoes and wrapped his arms securely around the little boy. Lying down on the cramped little mattress he tucked his arm around Bae and snuggled into the pillow. Sheltered in his father's embrace Baden Gold stopped shivering and curled back into the cocoon of the older man's arms, his fitful doze settling into a more relaxed repose and his soft snores becoming more even as his father listened. Smiling at his success, Robert closed his own eyes and tried to think of anything but the beautiful young woman he knew he wanted to help more than anything else in the world but knew he could never truly touch.

The next morning showed remarkable improvement in Bae's temperature. Overnight the little boy's skin had lost its near burning intensity and dulled to a mild heat that didn't worry Robert nearly so badly. He was still sick, and Robert still fed him his medicine every four hours, but he had been able to eat half the banana Robert offered him at midday which meant his appetite was returning and the worst was most certainly over. It was to the great relief of his father that Bae appeared to be on the mend, just in time for the damned statesperson to come on Sunday. On top of the busy morning Robert had with Bae it seemed every man and his bloody dog had wanted to speak with him. The Mayor had rung to ask after Bae and the meeting (bitch) and Graham had found it necessary to stop by to ask after his threatening behaviour towards the shop boy yesterday morning. Robert had managed to talk his way out of it, simply implying that his son had been ill, he'd been in a hurry and that could easily have translated to many people, given his reputation, that he was threatening them when in fact he was simply frustrated. The Sheriff had left, a doubtful look on his face, but without enough proof the case was dealt with as simply another of the thousands of dropped civil law cases across the Northern American continent. Unfortunately it was Friday, which meant that although Robert had taken the last two days off to fetch Bae from Boston and settle him into his new home, there was still a full day's work to be done at the pawnshop before the weekend rolled around and the Saturday council meeting became his priority. Sometimes he hated the position of influence he'd managed to achieve over the years. He was continuously stuffed to his eyeballs with bureaucratic bullshit and shoved into council-based obligations that took up the time he'd rather be spending alone, or as was the case now, with Bae. The Mayor's call had been no more helpful than a fly in his eye. He'd simply had to put up with her annoying simper for three straight minutes as he tried to organise his work things and strap Bae into the stroller he'd found tucked away in his shop the morning he'd left for Boston. When she'd hung up, he'd been just about ready to fling the phone at the wall just in case it rang again. Even if it was the President calling to personally tell him the world was ending Robert was not going to pick up the fucking thing. In the end Robert had seen no other choice but to take Bae to work with him. He was still worried about his fever coming back and he didn't trust enough people in Storybrooke to take care of his son and not touch anything in his house so he'd strapped the poor lad in firmly and walked out the front door. Robert made his way across the road and through the park to the Main Street, bracing himself for the onslaught he knew was coming. He could have taken the car but Bae needed the fresh air, and to be honest so did he. Not that it made the stares any easier. He sensed about every pair of eyes suddenly glued to him as he walked down the sidewalk with the stroller and simply stuck the perfected mask of casual indifference on his face as he ambled by. When he finally arrived at the shop he unlocked the front door and stepped inside the musty space as the bell overhead rang out merrily. The intricate and often quite unusual objects scattered around him brought a small smile to his face, even Bae seemed a little awestruck at the dusty, ancient things in the cabinets they passed. Carefully Robert unbuckled the boy and set him down in the backroom. There was a small staircase that led to a small bedroom that Robert had slept in a few times over the years whilst working late nights here, and if Bae got sleepy he'd simply put the wee tyke up there. Making sure there was nothing breakable, dangerous or small enough to fit in his mouth was lying on the floor of the backroom Robert walked out of the curtain that separated the two areas of the shop, just as the Sheriff walked in the door.

"Twice in one morning Sheriff, I must say I'm flattered." Robert said as the young man moved to the counter and glanced sharply at the older man.

"I've received a report Gold, one that involves you and a small child." Graham said curtly and Robert scowled. It wasn't as if he were a pedophile. Honestly, make one wrong deal with a stupid teenager who couldn't read the small print of a contract and the whole town thinks you're a child molester.

"Yes, I was not aware that it's a crime to take one's own son to work." Robert replied candidly, running an idle hand over the beautifully painting globe on the glass counter in front of him and staring at Graham in bemusement. The young man seemed stunned.

"Your son? You have a son?" He demanded and Robert chuckled.

"So it seems sheriff, one of the only perks of having a wife really." He retorted and sighed heavily.

"Now Sheriff if that's all, I really need to get back to work." Robert said pointedly and the young made stuttered.

"Can I at least see some proof he's yours." He demanded and Robert had to give the man credit for being thorough, even if it was annoying the shit out of him. He smiled thinly and opened his brief case, pulling the temporary guardianship form from the pile and handing it to Graham. The brown haired Irishman read the document quickly and nodded.

"Fine. Just, don't make trouble." He begged, his Irish lilt coming through strongly as he handed the sheet back to Robert's awaiting hands and nodded politely to the pawnbroker. Robert watched as he left and fought the urge to crush the paper in his hand. Not cause trouble indeed. People were always too nosy for their own good, if anyone really caused trouble it was the supposedly upright citizen of Storybrooke. The do-gooders so focused on doing good they made him and the little town feel polluted with sacrilegiousness. He always seemed to get the blame for the petty stuff when his actual plans were usually so much more devastating it was a wonder how people actually missed his involvement. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. There was for example that sheriff's election a few years back that was still a rather contentious issue with Regina. Regardless of the fact her favourite had lost that time around, thanks to his rather spectacular intervention he might add, he felt quite alright even if his cover was blown due the fact she was now using the victor as her little fuckbuddy anyway. He puzzled over how that happened for a moment but decided quickly that he really didn't need to know. Ignorance was sometimes bliss, and this was one of those sometimes. Better to stay safe and on the low key than draw unneeded attention to himself. He had Bae to think about now after all. He sat down in the back room, one eye fixed on Bae and the other fixed on the beautiful Edwardian tea set he was repairing. He's found it in an old manner house attic a few years back, when the elderly woman whom he'd purchased it from had been forced to sell a few of the family heirlooms to pay off the gambling debts that had killed her late husband. It was a fine set, complete with a quaint little tea pot, four simple cups and a set of milk and sugar jugs in sterling silver. Delicate white china, patterned with simple blue flowers, made them usual for the Edwardian age. Grandiose designs and bright colours had been more the style of the time, almost making him think it a later copy of an original Victorian set until he'd checked the bottom of each piece and found the company stamps leading to one of the most prominent porcelain and silverware companies at the time. It had since become a one oddity in his shop he was determined to keep for himself. True, if the right buyer offered the right price he might consider it, but really the tea set was so special he'd simply decided to repair the small cracks and restore the few blemishes the set possessed before taking it home to horde with his other treasures. Sighing happily he carefully painted over the faded blue flower on a single cup, relishing the sight of renewed colour as only a perfectionist could. Speaking of jobs though, there was one that plagued him still. It required a delicate touch and a subtle enough introduction for the work to get underway that the person themselves suspected nothing untoward. A tough thing to do if that person was skittish as a mouse in a tiger's enclosure. His good mood now invariably ruined Robert Gold sat back and tried to come up with an idea to bring Miss Isabelle French home, a feat he was sure he would do well or die trying. The gratitude he felt towards this woman knew no bounds, and he'd be damned if this Gaston Marsh would destroy the only spec of light to have entered his world since Milah walked out of it. He sat up suddenly, his brain whirling. Gaston Marsh, that was his answer in a nutshell. There were plenty of ways to keep a small man busy, especially if you could blackmail his boss.

_**Hurray, it is done. This chapter was fun, I really hope you like the developing plot because now things between Isabelle and Mr Gold can finally start to happen. I mean, I had to have a plausible reason for the relationship to develop and getting Gaston out of the way as much as possible seems to be the best way. I also appreciate you intakes on this piece, it's still in its early stages and I look forward to hearing what you think. Too fast or do you think I've paced it alright? What did you think of my Storybrooke extras, Maurice, Ruby, Graham? Feedback will help me develop them better for the purposes of this story so please, don't be shy. Love to all XX**_


	3. Actions Speak Louder

**Chapter 3:**

**So here's chapter three of Dark Passengers, a little later than I planned but I feel that it came out quite close to what I really wanted so… I'm happy if you're all happy. Thank you so much to everyone whose reviewed to this story, it really means a lot to me. I will put warnings on all chapters if I feel that content is going to offend or startle, this one is relatively clean and almost fluffy in places so. ****This chapter contains swearing and a little Belle-bashing (though not like anything before) **

Isabelle was startled awake by the harsh clamour of the phone, shrieking loudly in its cradle on the kitchen wall as she struggled from her chair to answer it as quickly as possible. Still half asleep, she stumbled inelegantly on the corner of the kitchen table and tumbled against the wall with a loud bang. Gaston's voice rose from the bedroom, groggy but slowly filling with irritation.

"What the fuck is that?" He demanded and Isabelle accidentally knocked the phone off its cradle in her haste to pick it up. The shrill noise it was making was immediately died and she breathed a sigh of relief as the apartment lapsed into silence once more. Her elbow ached from its contact with the wall and she rubbed at it as she stooped to retrieve the dangling phone, which was swinging crazily on its curling cord by her knees.

"It's just the phone!" She called over her shoulder and held the awful contraption against her neck as she looked at her watch warily. Her eyes bulged when it showed the time to be almost 6:30pm. For the first time in four years, she'd slept the whole day through. Isabelle suddenly remembered the unfortunate person on the other end of the phone she quickly spoke into the receiver.

"Sorry about that. You have reached the Marsh residence, how may I help you?" She asked politely and started when a gruff voice called down the line.

"Ah, g-afternoon Miss French, is eh Gaston there?" It was Abraham Dunst, Gaston's boss and the owner of one of the largest docking companies in the Riverina. Five generations of Dunst men had worked on the wharves, loading produce from around the county for almost 130 years, and Isabelle knew him to be the best of the crop. Unlike his father and grandfather before him Abe drank nothing but water and orange juice, he kept his womanizing to the one and hadn't stepped foot in a gambling house in over 20 years. He was an honest man, if a little eccentric. At 60 years of age Abraham Dunst had always carried himself in a manner befitting that of a mariner. He was as gusty as tempest and twice as strong again. The old salt was stubborn in his habits but later on in his life found himself climbing a few ladders in the docking company 'Morson and Sons' and eventually bought it from the owner when he left Storybrooke over half a decade ago. Before that, he had been a regular sight on the docks and on the water, but he'd lost his leg in a boating accident two years previous. The incident left him with an antique wooden peg that he refused to part ways with even after countless appeals from the hospital that it could cause an infection. Abe protested that if the water ever decided it wanted to take him again, with a wooden float attached to his knee it'd have a hell of a time trying. That was where the eccentricity came from.

"He's…" Isabelle trailed off as she turned around to see the looming shape of Gaston in the doorway. Her eyes travelled up to his face and she swallowed tightly at the murderous look in his eyes. He was not impressed to be woken, even less so to see her. Thinking quickly Isabelle smiled brightly at Gaston and spoke into the phone.

"He's right here Mr Dunst, I'll put him on." She said sweetly and Gaston's expression quickly became slick, all anger forgotten as he wrenched the phone from her grasp and shoved her away. She fell against the table, her right hip hitting the edge and making her hiss quietly in pain. Whilst rubbing the bruised bone furiously Isabelle glared over her shoulder at Gaston, freezing in horror when her mind belatedly caught up with what she was doing. Thankfully, his back was turned and he didn't see her heated gaze. Limping slightly Isabelle walked to the fridge and quietly began to peruse the shelves for the night's dinner. From behind her she could hear Gaston trying to smooth talk the older man, pouring his all into the effort. Around other people, which basically meant everyone who wasn't her, Gaston became quite polished, his cavalier smirks and good looks giving him a natural ease with most strangers whenever he felt it was necessary to impose his plans upon them. His ambitious ideas could almost compliment him, but his self-absorbed arrogance was sickening. Snake oil merchants could learn something from the way Gaston Marsh sold himself, Isabelle thought bitterly as she went back to organising dinner.

"Of course Mr Dunst, you know I'm always looking for extra opportunities to extend the company… No sir I haven't… Well sir that's incredibly generous of you… I'll be right over Mr Dunst… Thank you again and goodnight." Gaston's hand slammed the phone down on the cradle and the house was suddenly cloaked in a thick and heavy silence. It clung to Isabelle's throat and she felt her spine stiffen as she deliberately kept her back to Gaston and continued her search of the fridge.

"Don't bother, I'm heading out." Gaston said roughly and Isabelle's head snapped back in surprise to peer around the door at him. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and swallowed.

"Out? For work?" He nodded curtly and Isabelle fidgeted with the hem of her clothing, unduly excited at the prospect of him going so early. She would have the apartment to herself. Maybe she could even get watch the news as she ate dinner. She hid the excitement though, covering her growing enthusiasm with a sombre mask when he glanced her way. His beetle-black eyes were shining coldly in the harsh light of the kitchen and Isabelle shivered despite her rigid self-control. She was well aware of the damage her reaction could undoubtedly cause her if he figured it out. She'd be better off dead than for him to know she wished him gone. It would only prolong the inevitable fallout she knew he was probably still planning from the night before.

Gaston may not have been the brightest tool in the shed during high school, it had always been apparent he wasn't built for much more than manual labour and looking nice, but he never forgot the things he deemed important and, unfortunately for Isabelle at least, one of the most imperative things in his life was making sure she was well aware of the fact she would never, so long as he lived, get away with her misbehaviour. He felt it his duty, his obligation, to curb her of her foolish tendencies and mould her into what he perceived as the perfect woman. Displine came quick and it came hard, never without a reason or without fail. With a bitter wave of cold sweeping down her spine Isabelle folded her arms over her chest and swallowed again.

"Would you like a snack darling, just in case?" She asked breathlessly, biting out the words like hardened beef jerky. It was a relief when he shook his head, staring at the phone as though seeing it for the first time.

"How long will you be out?" Isabelle queried, curious to know but conscious that his mood could change at any moment, especially if he thought she was speaking too much. It had been one of the first things he'd beaten into her. Silence, he believed, was a golden virtue in women and as far as he was concerned the quieter she was, the better. She bit her tongue in the effort to remain quiet and waited upon his leisure as he continued to stare at the phone. She jumped when he snarled loudly.

"He wants me to start working the Dead-man's Shift… on top of my normal ones! I'll be out all night! Fucking bastard!" There was a loud bang and Isabelle flinched, instinctively ducking back behind the fridge door as he moved quickly and violently. It took her a moment to realised he wasn't coming after her and she bent her head to listen to the sound of coarse language filling the small apartment. Warily she looked around the fridge door to see Gaston's enormous fist had punctured through the thin, jip-rock wall beside the phone. Horrified, she covered her mouth with a hand, thinking about the landlord's monthly inspections and how much was going to come out of their rent for this. Gaston removed his fist from the wall slowly and stared at the bloody knuckles coolly, not a single muscle moving in his face. Isabelle watched too. Silence was her only option. In this mood he was as dangerous as it came. His outward calm was a thin façade she feared more than any of his violent rages, which were almost always over in under five minutes. These were treacherous waters to wade because they obscured a seething turmoil of rage that she knew one day would see her in the ICU… or dead. In this mood he was cool and collected, able to maliciously and painstaking deliver whatever he needed no matter how long it took. So, keeping the door between herself and Gaston, Isabelle sidled towards the top drawer in the counter. She cautiously eased it open, keeping a firm eye on Gaston, and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the carving knife inside. In the worst case scenario, if he came at her, she'd swipe and pray she hit something crucial. She'd plea self-defence and leave Storybrooke either of her own free will or in a cop car to Boston. In the best case scenario, if that was what she was going to call it, she'd be able to let go and he would walk out the door to work after she wrapped his hand. The kitchen was totally silent except for their breathing and Isabelle's hand began to cramp, fingers stiffening painfully around the handle of the knife. She watched breathlessly as Gaston stood in his own thoughts by the wall, motionless and utterly silent. The minutes ticked by slowly until, finally, he stepped away from the phone and glanced towards her, blood dripping from the gleaming knuckles of his right hand onto her recently cleaned tiles. The limb was held out to her jerkily and she shrank back against the counter.

"Clean it." He ordered curtly and she dropped the knife gratefully to scamper away down the hall to their bedroom. She ripped the door of the medicine cabinet open and rummaged for the bandages and antiseptic inside. She all but ran back to the kitchen, pausing when she saw Gaston callously wiping crimson smears on one of her nicer hand-towels. It was a softened, pristinely white piece of fabric that she'd placed in the hallway linen cupboard to avoid getting dirty. Well, tried to anyway. It had been a very old purchase, back when she'd naively believed she and Gaston would be married. Now it was just a dried up keepsake she couldn't bear to look at. So, in a way, the bloodied mess Gaston was creating actually lifted her spirits. She no longer had to look at the pristine white towel sets and see the stupid, ingenuous wish of a 15 year old with no a lick of common sense. Instead, she could see it as the disillusioned mess that it was, the hard proof of her destroyed dreams and the end of her fairy tale. There would never be a wedding, and there would never be a happy ending, not for her. A cough made her jump and Isabelle tossed her hair anxiously as she approached Gaston, settling herself precariously on the opposite chair and gingerly reaching out to take his injured hand between the two of hers. She turned it over gently to inspect the damaged knuckles and clucked disapprovingly. If you were going to do something, might as well do it well. Every knuckle was bleeding, and one of the sausage-like digits looked more than a little swollen, meaning she'd have the pleasure of relocating it.

"It's dislocated." She said quietly and he scowled. She squeezed the swollen knuckle cautiously, taking great pleasure when he flinched.

"I can re-set it. I'm pretty good with most things now." She couldn't help saying tartly. Without warning, a blinding streak of pain erupted over the right side of her face and she doubled over the table, clutching her cheek in shock and pain. Her eyes flickered up to Gaston's face to see it had gone livid with rage. She shrank back, cowed once again.

"That's for sheer cheek Izzy-belle, shut up and get on with it before I see how much of you I can bruise with a dislocated fellangle." He muttered and Isabelle nodded submissively as she took his hand once more and preparing to relocate the finger. She sniggered internally at his screw up though. Dumb as a sack of bricks, what the hell had she ever seen in Gaston? Realigning the finger with its socket she shoved suddenly, with a little more force than was strictly necessary, and smirked beneath as he swore loudly. The small muscle movement made her cheek sting but it was worth all the throbbing in the world to hear the bully hiss and swear as she cleaned the rapidly bruising hand. When it was once again plaster-free Isabelle made a quick trip to the sink to wet the whole towel to rid the bloody fabric of its ruby stains. She returned to insure he was not at a risk of septicity, though it wouldn't have pained her too much to see him out of the apartment for a few weeks with a golden staph infection. Poetic justice really. She placed two drops of antiseptic in each small gash along the knuckles and fought to hide her satisfaction when he cringed. Disgusted with his cowardice Isabelle wrapped the whole hand in loose bandages, let him sought it out if he damn well wanted to, before sitting back with a cursory nod and informing him that it was done. The result looked neater than anything most doctors could do, since she was an expert at wrapping her own wounds, but she guaranteed the whole thing would fall apart in less than half an hour. He looked it over, nodded once, and stood abruptly. She stayed where she was as he rounded the table. Grateful when he continued to ignore her Isabelle kept her head down and her eyes fixed on the table-top as Gatson grabbed his coat from the rack in the hall and checked his hair in the mirror. Egotism apparently knew no bounds with this one. She had almost drifted off into space when a harsh pain ripped through her recently abused scalp and she screeched, much to her shame. Gaston had grabbed the dark waves atop her head and yanked her whole head back, his fingers digging mercilessly through the strands and making her whole head feel as though it were on fire.

"Shut up bitch!" Gaston yelled hoarsely and she quietened quickly, biting her lip and leaning back more in an attempt to alleviate some of the tense pressure he was renting on her head. His fingers gripped her hair even tighter. She felt tears streak down her cheeks and focused on breathing as evenly as she could. The pain was immense, it took all her self-control not to sob aloud or simply faint through lack of oxygen. A rough wrench of her head made her gasp inaudibly.

"We'll finish all of this later Izzy-belle, don't think I've forgotten last night… and your cheek from before; duly noted my dear." He murmured softly and Isabelle whimpered slightly. With a grunt of disgust he flung her away and stormed off, the front door slamming and shaking the whole building. From the floor, Isabelle took deep, gulping breaths to try and keep herself under control. Crying had never solved any of her problems, nor did it particularly make her feel any better, but she couldn't have stopped the tears trickling down her face even if she'd wanted to. Helplessly she hyperventilated against the clay tiles until gradually regaining the ability to breath and sitting up clumsily to lean against the legs of her chair.

**Well, that went better than expected.** She couldn't help the groan that left her lips, clutching her head in her hands and shaking it furiously.

_Run now, don't stay. _

**You know he'll find you, he will always look for you.**

_Go to the police, take out an restraining order and stay with…_

**Who? Who will take you? Your father? Not likely since you refuse to speak to him. Ruby? Perhaps but you'd never want to put her in danger, and she ould be in danger if he knew you were staying with her. **

_Restraining order, with that he cannot touch you. _

**Oh but he could, after all, it's just a bit of paper. **The cacophony of voices was deafening. Isabelle began to rock fervently, holding herself in a tight ball as she rolled, her back colliding repetitively against the wooden chair behind her.

_No!_

**Yes!**

_No!_

**Yes!**

_**It depends on where you get it from.**_

Isabelle had long since stopped fighting the voices, they had simply crept in and overwhelmed her before she had a moment to try and fight them. They clamoured and fought, pushing her abused mind to its limits as she simply sought to stop rocking. This last one however cut through the rabble like a gun shot, crystal clear and full of quite determination. She paused, astonished to find the other voices had stopped to listen as well. She took a deep breath to steady herself, pulling as much sanity as she could back into her mind.

_**Think. Who has more power in this town then the police? Who can you go to when you have a problem? **_The answer was blaringly obvious, it was almost screaming at her, but Isabelle refused to acknowledge it. She couldn't ask him. She couldn't bring him into this mess. He would pity her, or worse, see her as just some new job he had to deal with and move on after it was done. Isabelle couldn't stand the thought of him simply helping her because he felt obligated to do so, it made her feel smaller than the smallest ant. After what they'd shared she knew she could never ask him to wash her dirty laundry of its filthy stains, it was embarrassing enough just airing it in private. Robert had saved her life. He was not some monster for hire, he was… her friend? The thought puzzled her. What was he to her? Friend seemed so insignificant after what had transpired between them and he'd be the first person to say he didn't have friends. She smiled tightly but it made her resolve all the stronger. She's be whatever he needed her to be, whenever he needed her.

"I couldn't ask him." She said wearily, resignation filling her and making her slump in her seat. The voices swarmed again.

_Run._

**No. **

_Run._

**Stay.**

_**Gold.**_

The last voice made her scream. Standing awkwardly she picked up the enarest object and flung it at the wall. It was a plate, shattering on impact and falling with a satisfying crash to the floor. With no other projectiles close by Isabelle brought her hands down on the table, her fists throbbing agonisingly as she pounded all her frustration out on the gleaming wood. When she was done she slumped, strewn across the surface and shaking with spent adrenalin. A thought occurred to her through the fog of vexation and she sighed heavily. She should be celebrating, she should be having a ball that she now had an entire evening to herself without Gaston. Not bruising her hands on the kitchen table and wiling away her hours in misery.

"God help me." She muttered and ran both her hands through her hair as she straightened quickly. For the second time in less than an hour, she jumped at the sound of the phone ringing. She reached out and took the phone of its hook. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm her heart beat Isabelle brought it to her ear and announced her presence. Her voice was raspy and she flinched.

"Ah dearie, I was wondering if I got the right number… as it turns out I'm better at this guessing thing than I first thought." Isabelle was instantly awake. It was simply not possible that she was having an inner turmoil moment because of single bloody Scotsman and said Scotsman magically decided to ring her. It was simply not happening. Her forehead connected lightly with the wall and she rested against it in defeat. Well, apparently it could and it was.

"Mr Gold?" She asked tremulously and he chuckled.

"Aye." She dropped the phone with a small shriek. Staring at the dangling, off-white contraption she felt her heart pounding in her ears. For a whole minute she stared at the phone without a word until finally she shook herself determinedly. She gripped the cord and brought the phone back to her ear. A worrying silence greeted her.

"Hello?" She asked and Gold clucked, obviously annoyed.

"How did you get this number?" She demanded softly but furiously. Again, the man simply chuckled at her expense.

"Oh good, you're not dead." He muttered sarcastically and she scowled at the wall.

"As if you care." She retorted harshly, without thinking, and he coughed pointedly.

"Actually dearie, if I didn't care for your state of being we would not be having this discussion, thus it can be assumed that the very idea of me not caring stands to itself as null and void since the very reality of you proposing such a ridiculous notion reconciles the fact that I care very much about the occurrence of your death." Isabelle snorted in derision, covering her embarrassment and bringing the phone closer to her ear. Twisting the cord around her finger she tried to make her mind work properly.

"Well now Mr Gold, I'm relieved that the current state of my existence brings you the much needed peace you obviously require. I'd hate to see what you'd become if the reality of the situation changed for the worse, then you'd have no ridiculous notions to scorn or verbose conversations to start." She slapped her forehead with her palm, just managing stopping her groan. To her great surprise a genuine laugh filtered down the line, after a moment of complete silence, and she could hear a definite note of amusement in Gold's voice as he spoke.

"Ah, but it is not my acquisition peace to which I was referring dearie. In fact, I was merely highlighting the inconsistencies of your argument, which posed the idea that I did not care about your state of existence. The fact that it gives me peace never came into this, what did you call it? Verbose conversation I believe was the phrase." He teased flippantly and she shrugged, belatedly realising the futility of the gesture.

"That is, until you decided it must be the motivation of my interest in your lifespan." He continued blithely and she exhaled sharply.

"So you admit to having an interested in my lifespan, putting aside for the moment your obvious disregard for my hypothesis about the motivation behind your concern." She accused facetiously, the twisting cord unwinding and rewinding unconsciously between her fingers as she spoke.

"Not at all, I simply endeavour to inform you that the circumstance of your death would undoubtedly cause me some measure of moral disturbance since the effort I undertook to preserve your life would thus be squandered and we would not be having the marvellous opportunity to indulge in this delightful conversation."

"As loquacious as it is becoming." She retorted frankly and he tutted tauntingly. His brogue had thickened to a point where Isabelle was almost unsure if she was actually hearing half his words correctly, yet she found it impossible to care. Entranced, she sat down on the floor, back pressed to the wall and brought the phone closer to her ear.

"Am I to be content with this perfunctory reply? Come now Mr Gold, admit that you have more motivation than simple rescuer's investment in caring for my state of being." She coaxed, daring to hope, and terrified at the same time.

"If I did, it would not be the response appropriate for a professional such as myself. As for perfunctory, why Miss French; I could never say anything to or about you that is perfunctory. If it has come across as such then I must respectfully seek your exculpation for such a trivial crime and solicit from you mercy and a secured amity for future conversations as protracted as this one." Isabelle was speechless, trying to figure out a new come back and failing miserably. No one had made her think this hard and this quickly for almost five years and it felt wonderful to match wits with someone. Obviously Mr Gold was proving himself to be quite the linguistical opponent. Were they flirting? She fought to keep from giggling at such a ridiculous notion. As if Mr Gold would ever flirt with her.

"The mercy you should seek is granted, yet the amity for future conversation… perhaps I should withhold judgement till that time; for it is quite possible you mean to ensnare me in some clever trick of words that will leave me defenceless when next we talk. So spin you words Gold but expect no quarter from me till I also have full exoneration from your cascading incisiveness." Isabelle sniggered as she finished. She was quite proud of that one, let him wriggle around that for a bit. Through the phone she could hear him struggling to maintain his own stoic front. The urge to laugh suddenly boiled over and neither of them seemed able to withstand the pressure as twin fissures of laughter echoed down both ends of the phone line. Isabelle laughed and laughed, seemingly unable to stop or even want to. The pain in her cheek faded into nothing and she hunched over in an attempt to hold herself together, only to spasm occasionally in short fits of mirth. Gold was not having a better time of it and although the sound seemed odd, considering the person it came from, Isabelle decided she loved it when he laughed. He sounded much younger when he laughed, less rigid, less cold.

"Alright, I call for a ceasefire." Isabelle begged breathlessly and Gold chuckled.

"On what grounds?" He demanded facetiously and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"The condition of my diaphragm." She retorted and a quiet snort reached her ears.

"Very well." Gold murmured with some semblance of dignity, nearly sending her over the edge once more. Pulling herself together Isabelle tried to remember what they had been talking about before all this and realised he'd never informed of her the purpose of his call.

"What do you want?" She asked bluntly and could have heard him start from the other side of town.

"Candid as always dearie." He remarked dryly and she swallowed.

"Sorry, that was rather sudden of me. Please Mr Gold would you be so kind as to inform me of the reason for your call apart from battling wits and rupturing my diaphragm?" She asked and felt him rolling his eyes on the other end. He cleared his throat and seemed to struggle with whatever it was. Intrigued Isabelle kept silent in anticipation.

"I… have a favour to ask of you." She felt her mouth fall open in shock. Mr Gold needed a favour from her? Surely she hadn't heard that right.

"I beg your pardon?" She mumbled and he sighed.

"Are you available to look after Bae for a couple of hours tomorrow? I wouldn't ask but, I've been busy with his fever and I'm still rather new to this whole child care business and…" She broke in quickly.

"You haven't contacted a babysitter?" She asked curiously and he chuckled mirthlessly.

"Dearie, how many babysitters do you know willing to offer themselves up to take care of my son? Baring in mind it is me they will be employed by." Gold said sarcastically and Isabelle felt her anger rise.

"I'm sure a great deal would, people have sold themselves for less." She flinched at how bad that sounded.

"After all, you're not a bad person Mr Gold and they'll be getting paid to take care of Bae, not you." She countered seriously and he snorted.

"Bae, me, makes no difference to these people." He said quietly and Isabelle sniffed. It sounded like a load of self-loathing bullshit to her, and if there was one person on this god-forsaken planet who should never feel that way it was him.

"I can't complain, dug that grave myself and I'll sleep in it if I must." He muttered, making Isabelle wonder if he had wanted her to hear him. She decided to press on instead.

"What time do you want me to be there and where exactly am I going?" She asked curiously and he halted mid flow. He cleared his throat and his brogue returned, as it often did when he got nervous or unsure. Isabelle didn't think too many people noticed that little quirk, but she sure did and it made him less of the legendary figure she'd been told about and more like the decent human being she knew him to be.

"Council meetings can run for hours, I actually have no idea how long I'll be gone but if you don't mind coming around 10:30am that would be great. My address is…" Gold rolled off the address stiffly as Isabelle scrambled to her feet in a panic.

"Just give me a second." She said anxiously and dashed all over the tiny kitchen to rummage around for a pen and paper. She found an old notepad and was irritably clicking an old blue one she'd discovered behind the toaster when she flew back to the phone, almost dropping it again as she raised it to her ear.

"Okay. 10:30 and that address… is your house the pink Queen Anne?" Isabelle asked as she tried to picture the rather up-market suburb he's just told her about. If memory served her correctly, which it often did, the house was a perfectly preserved Queen Anne style house, remnant of the early Neo-colonial movement of the 1920s. She still wondered what possessed them to make it pink, yellow or blue would have been much nicer, but beggars couldn't be choosers and she was getting a chance to actually see the inside of it. No room to complain at all. Gold during this time seemed too stunned to talk.

"You'll do it?" He asked weakly and she chuckled kindly, shaking out the notepad and eying the information she'd written.

"Of course, I owe you several times over Mr Gold. Not to mention I absolutely adore Baden, he is feeling better isn't he?" She asked worriedly and he coughed with apparent embarrassment.

"Yes, he's much better thank you." Isabelle felt herself smiling widely.

"Owe me?" He said slowly and she froze, nodding warily into the phone. Writing down a few other notes next to the time she wriggled the phone into a more comfortable position against her neck.

"Well, I would have thought it obvious from out prior conversation however, need I remind you that you saved my life… literally?" She asked deliberately and the man on the other end cleared his throat sternly. She could just about picture his dour expression.

"Not a debt." He informed her tensely and Isabelle faltered.

"For you perhaps, but not for me. Then of course there was your sneaky little trick this morning, not paying my groceries with my money… I'm bringing it over tomorrow just so you know." She notified him and froze when the bloodied tea towel on the kitchen table caught her eye. A lightning bolt of horror swept through her. Gaston. How could she have forgotten about him?

"Um, there may be a problem though… I um, I have to be home early to make dinner for my boyfriend… as you can obviously tell, we live together so I make him something before work and…" She covered her face with her hand. Now she'd made an idiot of herself.

"Belle, please trust me. I shouldn't be any later than say five o'clock." He told her calmly and she nodded, relief settling over her like a blanket.

"Oh, okay. Not a problem." Isabelle murmured shakily and sighed.

"I'll see you tomorrow Mr Gold. Have a very good evening." He seemed stunned by her well-wish and mumbled something that may have been a returned comment before they hung up simultaneously. Isabelle stared at the phone and felt an enormous smile stretch across her face. Looking down at her notepad Isabelle let out an excited squeal, before running down the corridor and flinging herself down on the bed. Isabelle snuggled deep into her pillow and, despite the fact she should have been enjoying her freedom, began wishing fervently for the morning to come.

_OoOoOoO_

Robert was in a state of mild panic by 10 o'clock on Saturday. The council meeting began in an hour's time, his small rubbish tip of antiques was still no closer to order than it had been an hour ago and he was only half-way dressed when Bae decided, as of 9 o'clock that morning, to seek a career in becoming a human limpet. It had taken a long time for Robert to quieten the boy's cries, but eventually simply limping around the house had coaxed a contented smile from the boy's lips and he'd been allowed to continue his chaotic schedule. It wasn't that the boy was a burden, never that, but with a buggered leg and little preparation time, Robert was slowly but surely reaching his breaking point. As it turned out, early mornings were a definite fixture of his new life with Baden and although he'd been up since 6, in between cleaning, panicking and keeping a firm eye out for the boy's antics, Robert had discovered Time was as fleeting a thing as the air he breathed. So, with the little boy perched awkwardly on his hip, the exhausted pawnbroker moved clumsily around the ground floor of the house, moving piles of priceless crockery, ornate woodcraft and other assorted paraphernalia into new positions and trying to locate the several articles of clothing he was still without. So far that included work pants and his tie, an unbuttoned shirt and bared socks making him slide dangerously across the polished wooden hallway enough times to wonder if the house actually hated him. Some of Bae's new things had arrived on Friday afternoon, a highchair, playpen and a few other odds and ends he had simply shoved throughout the house in the hopes of sorting it out over the weekend. Bloody council meetings! Regina could go and royally fuck herself because he really couldn't give more of a damn about the blasted things if the world came to an end because of his inattentiveness. Bae whimpered softly and Robert paused in the act of carrying his Edwardian tea set to the overflowing table in the sitting room. Putting the small set down in a nearby arm chair he put his hand to Bae's forehead in a small panic but felt no residual heat coming from the lad. Unsure what was the matter Robert simply watched as Bae's hand swept across the underside of his nose and he lifted his enormous brown eyes to his father's, before sliding them over his shoulder, around the room, to the ceiling fan, back to his hand and… Robert stopped following those entrancing orbs. There was something not quite right with the slightly absent look in his son's eyes. It wasn't the remnants of a fever and it wasn't even sleep, it was something deeper than either and it worried him.

"Bae?" He called quietly and the lad froze, peering up at him again. Robert tapped him in the centre of his chest, gently but meaningfully. He said his son's name, deliberately enunciating it as he tapped the boy once more upon his chest.

"Baden. Can you say that for me?" He asked hopefully but the boy simply stared. Robert swallowed thickly and tried again.

"Baden." He repeated slowly, placing a finger to Bae's sternum. The lad's gaze flicked to his lips briefly before moving to his shoulder.

"Bae- den. Bae- den." Robert said empathically and still the boy stayed quiet, his delicate hands stretching up to fiddle with Robert's collar. Giving up reluctantly Robert began to clean up the house once more in a more perturbed state of mind. The silence was really starting to worry him. He hadn't heard one word in the three days he had known his son and something, deep inside his gut, was telling him it wasn't right. He would see Dr Hopper on Monday. He nodded, deciding it was for the best since he was at a loss, once again, as to how to deal with this new crisis. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for this parent thing? He sighed and looked at his wrist, his eyes bulging when he saw he had less than five minutes to get dressed. In a whirlwind of panic he raced into the kitchen and placed Bae in his high chair. The boy sat in puzzlement, banging on the tray in front of him and glancing around the room at his new height. Robert fled to find his pants. Bae's shrieks of protest followed him through the house and he winced as a particularly loud one made his eardrums ache slightly. The pants were soon located, hanging lazily over the arm of a chair in the dining room. After puzzling for a moment over his own thought processes and he awkwardly pulled up them over his legs and limped hurriedly throughout the house to check reflection in the mirror. The exhausted face that stared back caused him to flinch and run a hand through his bedraggled, shoulder-length hair. Old, that's what he was. Too old for half the shit he was doing nowadays. Tiredly he straightened his collar and glanced around for his tie, which of course was now nowhere to be seen. Growling in frustration he re-entered the kitchen to find Bae still sitting in his highchair, a pen laying on the flat surface of the tray before him. It appeared to have come from the opened diary on the table, filled with appointments and special notes Robert meticulously recorded for each day of his life. Curiously Robert leant against the opened doorway, as Bae reached out to tap the pen with a finger, his small face creased in concentration. It turned a wobbly circle on the tray and Bae's shriek of amazement made Robert smirk. So much for him being quiet, he thought wryly. The pawnbroker watched idly for another few minutes as his son slowly perfected his ritual. With one finger Baden would reach out, tap the pen once and sit back to watch in awe as the writing instrument whirled delicately on its axis. When the rhythm faltered he'd reach out swiftly and begin another round, his face filled with innocuous delight at each rotation. His blue eyes followed the spin of the pen like Robert's often followed a thread around a spindle. His mother's old spinning wheel suddenly sprung to mind, hidden away in the shed collecting spider-webs. Maybe he'd bring it out, just to make sure it wasn't rotting away, maybe give it a few spins… He jumped when the doorbell rang and swore quietly. Feeling his collar Robert couldn't contain a growl of frustration when he confirmed the absence of his goddamned tie. The bloody thing was mocking him now. Limping gracelessly to the door he unlocked it and pulled it open sharply to find Isabelle standing on the front porch. She seemed ready to flee, her azure eyes wide as she stared up at him. Underneath the rather bulky shoulder bag and winter coat Isabelle was dressed in a comfortable pair of light beige slacks and the russet curls atop her head were held back in a tortoise-shell clip from which tendrils escaped. He fought the foolish instinct to touch them, ashamed at himself for even thinking it. Robert looked down and saw her feet were still bare, electric blue toenails glittering on the porch floorboards. She followed his gaze and a faint blush covered her cheeks.

"I couldn't find my shoes." She said softly and he frowned.

"Surely you have another pair." He said and the blushed deepened, but this time her shame was infinitely more evident. Robert felt awful, bringing attention where it obviously wasn't wanted, and smiled weakly at the uncomfortable young woman on his front veranda.

"Come inside Belle, I have your shoes and your charge waiting for you in the kitchen." He said lightly and she smiled shakily. He opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing her to pass by him and though to the hallway. He chuckled as she gazed around the house in apparent wonder. Her eyes took in the curling maple stairs, the intricate arches of the doorways and the gleaming floorboards beneath her feet in such naked excitement Gold pondered whether he actually deserved to live in the house, considering he cared so little for it. Belle's joy at being inside it was infectious and he smiled at her when she turned to face him again. That was when he finally noticed a dark smudge on the right side of her face. He came closer and the finger shaped bruises made his own fingers clench around the top of his cane with enough force to shatter the lacquered wood. The fact that anyone would touch a woman in such a fashion made his jaw tighten, the fact that the prick did it to his Belle consistently (going on the state of her jumpiness) made him want to wring the bastard's neck. His Belle? Shaking his head he tried to keep things professional, after all, there were other, though perhaps not more enjoyable, methods of wreaking vengeance on a dockworker. He just needed to get Belle way from him sooner than he thought.

"Your house is beautiful Mr Gold." The woman in question said breathlessly and he whacked his cane against the skirting nonchalantly. He was grateful a second later when the oak wood didn't dent nor the varnish chip, the ASS would have had his head for the thoughtless blow alone.

"This old thing? The place could do with a lick of paint and a younger man to enjoy it." He retorted and she cocked her head disbelievingly.

"You have a funny way of thinking sir, now where's the patient?" She asked, her face lighting up and making Robert's heart clench. The fact that this young woman felt excitement at the prospect to seeing Bae filled his chest with a bittersweet mixture of joy and heartache. He knew he had to keep this whole thing professional, that she was merely a friend, but he also knew Isabelle French was instrumental for his small and slightly dysfunctional family. When the hell had he gotten so sappy?

"You can hang your coat up there." He said and indicated to the rack beside the door. Isabelle nodded but made no move to remove the jacket she wore, smiling blithely when his gaze became pointed. Irritated he shook himself and walked into the kitchen, without a word or stopping to think about his actions. The moment Belle caught sight of Baden, she raced past his father with a small cry of delight. Standing before the highchair she stooped slightly to peer down at the slowly rotating pen with open inquisitiveness, smiling into Bae's face when he paused in his own perusal.

"Hello little man. What on earth are you doing?" Baden's focused gaze flickered over her face. His quiet stare was extremely serious, as though he was unsure of who she was, then slowly but surely his mouth curved upwards in recognition. He shrieked at the young woman in front of him and held out his hands towards her, plainly begging to be picked up. Belle clasped them gently and leaned in to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. Robert felt himself relax and realised he'd been holding his breath, waiting for some indication that Bae would not accept Belle. Without much encouraging Belle reached into the chair and hoisted the lad onto her hip, running a hand briskly through the dark brown curls and smiling up at Robert.

"It's good to see the fever is gone. I was really worried about him" She said softly. The shadows of the kitchen made the smudge on her cheek stand out lividly and he swallowed fiercely.

"Disappeared almost overnight. He's still drowsy and he might even sleep for an hour or two this afternoon, but don't expect it." He said curtly and she cocked her head in confusion. Robert sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Where had all his great vocabulary gone? He'd been spectacular the night before and now he was struggling to string a decent sentence together.

"Bae doesn't seem to sleep long, or much at all for that matter. If he starts to rub at his temples it means he's tired but it's not necessarily a guarantee of anything." Robert informed her and his Belle nodded, smiling as Bae's face pressed into her neck. She shifted his weight slightly and set her bag down on the counter, the contents making a solid thumping noise. At his bemused expression she shrugged sheepishly.

"I brought a couple of things, just in case." She explained and opened the bag for his inspection.

"There's a fruit salad for lunch, uh… a couple of toy cars I thought he'd like and a few picture books you might like to read him at night. I thought it might help smooth things over with the new house, I know I always had a hard time moving places as a child." She said softly and he stared at her in amazement. He hadn't asked her for anything and yet, here she was, giving his son presents. Usually the very thought of people bequeathing him things like this, as though they believed him in need of their charity, would make him feel pitied beyond standing, but from Belle they were genuine and thoughtful gifts. Looking into her eyes he could see no pity or censure, and she looked so anxious as she held the bag open all Robert found himself capable of was smiling and taking the mentioned parcels from the depths of the handbag. Underneath that bulk was a container of fruit salad, her mobile phone and a battered brown wallet held together with sticky tape. Despite the sorry state of the old Nokia and the wallet, Robert felt a few jokes about the universe hiding inside women's handbag dancing the cha-cha on the tip of his tongue but he decided not to push his luck and quickly closed his mouth. He handed her the bag and she seemed pleased, her whole demeanour brightening as he looked on.

"They should be lovely dearie, uh, fridge is over there." He said and pointed to the stainless steel machine behind her. She nodded and carefully removed the container from her shoulder bag before miming to Bae about how they were going to eat it later and placing it inside the freezer. Bae seemed fascinated by the fridge, pointing to it curiously. Isabelle re-opened it and shut it, letting a cold draft waft over them and causing Bae to shiver and bury his head in her neck again. She laughed and patted him on the back, turning back around and walking over to Robert.

"Do you want to give me a layout of the house, just so I know where everything is, or do you need to go? I'm sure I can fend for myself if that's the case." Belle said quietly and he shook his head, glancing at his watch to see he had fifteen minutes of spare time before he'd be in danger of being late.

"I have time. Do you want coffee? Or perhaps that cup of tea I promised?" He teased and Belle chuckled.

"Tea would be appreciated, thank you." She replied daintily and made his way over to the counter to flick the kettle on. As it began to heat he felt the muscles of his knee spasm painfully and he hissed, rubbing the spot furiously as he leant against the counter slightly.

"Are you alright?" Isabelle asked and he nodded. Glancing up he smirked.

"Just one of the perks of being old dearie." He muttered and she pulled a face. Bae shrieked and pointed past Belle's head, making the pair turn around just in time to see a bird fly past the kitchen window. They laughed and Bae chortled, pointing again at the window and making an odd cooing sound.

"That's right, it's a pigeon." Belle murmured and Bae dunked his head, peering up at her quickly before pointing at the window again. Isabelle glanced over at Robert and he straightened, leg forgotten under her intense scrutiny.

"Has he spoken yet?" She asked sternly and he frowned.

"I don't see how that's…"

"Oh come on Mr Gold, it may not be my business but I can see that you're worried. By all means, go and see someone about it, but only if you feel it needs to be done." She interrupted tightly and he closed his mouth with a distinct clink. Her words echoed his own thoughts in a way that made his temples ache eerily. She cocked her head to the side, her question obvious but unspoken. Robert snapped to attention. He led her back out into the hallway and pointed through the arched doorway in front of them.

"Sitting room and study is through there. The dining room curls around the back and meets up through another doorway in the kitchen, so everything on this floor is connected in some fashion. Upstairs are Bae's room and the bathroom, second and third doors on the left. The backdoor is just over here," He pointed to the door beside the counter in the kitchen and she nodded, turning in a slowly circle and staring around the house.

"And I think that's really it, there's a shed out back but it's locked. The back garden's nice so if the weather stays as it is you can either go out there or across the road to the park. If you need anything, or of something happens, my number is on the fridge." He said and Belle nodded, smiling as he fingered his neck suddenly. Feeling the bareness of his throat he groaned and looked around.

"I swear those bloody ties…" He muttered quietly and she sniggered. He looked over to see her carefully removing a long strip of golden silk from the banister of the staircase with a single finger and looking over it thoughtfully.

"Uh. Thank you dearie." He said and her smile became a smirk.

"Here." Belle murmured gently and handed him his son. He juggled the lad for a moment and so missed her rapid approach. Before he realised it Belle had looped the golden tie around his neck, flicked up his collar and was gently buttoning up the last few clasps on his shirt. She moved as though they'd done this a thousand times before and he watched in rigid silence as she expertly folded the silken strands into a neat knot. She flicked the collar down and smoothed the shoulders of his shirt, nodding to herself proudly.

"I used to do this for my Papa." She said happily and froze. Her gaze flickered up towards his and as their eyes met her cheeks flooded with crimson colour. She bit her lip as she neatly tucked the shorter strip behind its partner and flattened the garment against his chest. He stared back in total astonishment. Her promiximity was making his head spin and the fact that she touched him, without flinching or a moment's regret, was enough to make him question the reality of the situation. The smile dropped off her crimsoned face and she eyes fell to the floor. Her hands fiddled awkwardly with her coat and she stepped back to wrap her arms around her own waist self-consciously.

"Sorry about that… I shouldn't have." She muttered furiously, her expression angry. He shook his head and stepped closer, bending slightly to look into her face.

"No Belle, it's fine. I had my hands full." He said lightly and shifted the young boy on his hip. Bae's small chortle made the two adults laugh tightly. Belle's blue orbs peered at him through sooty lashes and the corners of her lips picked up again. She held out her arms and he deposited Bae back into them but not before pressing a kiss to his son's forehead and smoothing his brown locks lovingly. He looked at Belle and noticed her cheeks had leeched slowly of their flush and were now a becoming shade of pink, a shade that he heartily approved of on her beautiful face.

"I should be back by five. You have my number? The fire department? Sheriff's office?" He asked warily, suddenly nervous to be leaving Bae on his own. Well, he wasn't technically on his own but Robert still felt awful leaving him like this so soon after his arrival in Storybrooke. It couldn't be easy on the lad.

"Yes Mr Gold. There's absolutely no reason for you to worry. We'll be happy and safe when you get home, now go on." She said faux-sternly and herded him towards the door. He stopped and pulled on his suit jacket from where he'd left it hanging on the coat rack earlier, the one piece of clothing he could rely on to be where he'd left it. He opened his mouth as he began buttoning it but apparently he was being shipped out of his own house by the whirlwind of a woman named Isabelle French. Cutting off his arguments the slim girl ushered him out the door, down the steps and towards the car and not even a minute later he was in his the vehicle, fully dressed and briefcase sorted, peering worriedly at a woman holding a little boy on his front porch as he began to back away. She lifted a hand and waved, making him almost lift his own in response. He controlled the action and finished reversing, fighting the urge to look in the mirror and check on the pair on the porch. In ten minutes he was at the town hall, seated in his usual seat. Right smack on 11 o'clock. A table about six or so places long had been set up in the cleared area of the courtroom, with a few people already sitting there. Graham was lounging in his seat, punctual as always and Sydney Glass was by his type writer in preparation for recording the meeting. Robert was glad to see he was not the last to arrive. Dr Hopper walked in a few minutes after Robert, muttering an apology and quickly seating himself down beside Graham. The Mother Superior hurried in after a long, frazzled look in his general direction. And the cherry on the cake had to be, fifteen minutes after leaving his house, Robert found himself smirking at Regina as she walked into the meeting with a harried expression and one of her beautiful pearl earrings missing from her right ear. She didn't even glance his way, which made his smirk broaden and his posture relax the smallest touch. He had the upper hand and she knew it. He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. With all six members of the council present the meeting was ready to begin, and Robert already had a great feeling about it.

"Let the council meeting begin. Mayor Mills? Do you wish to start the proceedings?" Archie said as he pushed his glasses further up his slim nose. Regina looked as though she'd swallowed a lemon and nodded, smoothing down her suit and standing to hand out the briefs Sidney had dredged up from gods only knew where. Robert flicked his open and perused the usual order of complaints and statutes the Storybrooke council convened for. All in all, he'd waste an afternoon discussion parking rates, neighbourly disputes and rent agreements when all he really wanted to do was sit at home and make sure everything was clear for when the statesman arrived. He suddenly sat rigid, as a terrible thought occurred to him. His house was in no way appropriate for housing a child. It had no safety features on the stairs or doors, it was a clustered garbage tip from the shop and almost three quarters of Bae's things had yet to come in.

"Something wrong Mr Gold? Is this council still worth your precious attention or have we somehow fallen from your good graces?" Regina's smug voice called to him from a distance and his head snapped up irritably as he glared at her from across the table.

"Nothing, thank you for your concern Madam Mayor." He said softly and clenched the tip of his cane tightly in his fist. The Mother Superior peered at him nervously.

"I do hope that little boy of yours is in good hands, you didn't place him in the convent preschool I see." She murmured and Gold quirked a sardonic eyebrow.

"No, I did not Mother Superior. I hired someone to take care of Baden this afternoon." He said and her startled blue eyes flashed wide.

"Who?" She asked incredulously and although she had a point, Robert couldn't help but sneer disdainfully at her. She looked ready to retort and Robert felt his gears begin to grind as he reached for his own arsenal of insults. Nun or not, the woman would regret starting another argument with him. Just as things began to heat up a sound from the end of the table made them both pause and look around, just in time to see Graham yawn widely and rub his forehead in boredom. He glanced at the pair of them levelly and rolled his grey eyes irritably.

"As fascinating as this is, I think the council has more pressing matters to discuss than your son's nanny Mr Gold." He said firmly and Gold would have shouted the man a double shot of whatever he loved if he could have. He nodded shortly, settling back into his seat as the Mother Superior appeared to draw on her own reserves of self-control and relax. He sent the sheriff a small look of gratitude which the Irishman smiled away discretely. Regina on the other hand looked decidedly put out at the averted crisis and the remaining council-members completely confused. At Graham's pointed look Archie cleared his throat and reshuffled his papers. Gold groaned internally. Not only would his personal life be splashed across Storybrooke, but Belle's confidentiality would also be in jeopardy. Now people would be wondering how could dare take care of Mr Gold's kid, and worst of all, she might not want to come back if Gaston found out. It took all of Robert's concentration to focus on the meeting and he found his eyes straying constantly to the clock on the wall over Regina's head, counting down the minutes of his sentence.

_OoOoOoO_

Isabelle stepped inside the house the moment Gold's car disappeared from sight and slumped back against the solid wood of the door. She began to knock her head into the wood in frustrated embarrassment. What an absolutely idiot she was! He probably thought she was beyond crazy now. Covering her face with her free hand she rubbed at her eyes tiredly, wondering if she'd just blown her chance at a normal existence. She snorted at the thought. Nothing about her existence was normal, so why would this be any different, why wouldn't she fuck it all up? Isabelle sighed and leaned against the door before reopening her eyes and glancing down at Bae with a bemused expression. The little boy was staring at the floor, clinging to her tightly as he slid down her waist. Finally shrugging off the overheating coat Isabelle quickly resettled him on her hip and walked back into the immaculate kitchen, grabbing the two toy cars she'd brought with her for his enjoyment and cocking her head thoughtfully as she peered at them. She then held the two cars out for Bae's inspection and watched in amusement as he seemed to study the tiny automobiles on her palm intensely, before reaching out and taking them from her with a small smile. One car clutched securely in each hand Bae allowed Isabelle to take him out of the kitchen and put down on the floor of the sitting room. Isabelle's mouth fell open slightly as she stared around the area, her hands falling to her hips as she turned a neat circle on the pale blue Persian rug.

"Typical male." She muttered as she gazed at the mess that surrounded her. It covered the once beautiful room in a thick layer of whatever junk Gold wanted to bring home from his pawnshop and Isabelle could hardly see the beauty of the old house beneath the rubble of antiques. Apparently Mr Gold was quite the hoarder. Isabelle was caught in an emotional concoction of awe and disgust as she dropped her gaze to stare down at Bae in amazement. He had decided to stand up and peer around the room with her, one hand curled around her left leg and his brown eyes cast up at her in obvious bewilderment. She smiled comfortingly and placed a hand atop his unruly curls.

"A regular bachelor pad Bae, the worst case of last minute clean up I've ever seen." She informed him teasingly and he stared at her blankly before taking a few steps forward. He stopped suddenly and looked around, his eyes alighting on a wooden chest tucked away under a beautifully crafted mahogany desk which seemed covered with every bit of assorted clutter in the house. Under the general confusion of shop receipts, brokering credentials and assorted paperwork Isabelle could see a white china tea set, an elegant mantle-piece clock of lacquered oak, a golden candelabrum with three slightly broken arms, about ten different sized boxes and about fifty other bits and pieces which appeared to be scattered across the polished mahogany surface. Then Isabelle's breath caught in her throat, pure excitement making her breath come short and fast. There were books lying about everywhere. They covered every available ledge, tables, chairs, parts of the floor… everywhere but the enormous bookshelf shoved against the far wall. Half its shelves stood empty but Isabelle could see that, although seemingly tossed carelessly about the place, the books were well worn, dog-eared pages peering at her from every angle and whole series stacks in their appropriate orders. The house was a diamond mine of antiques _and_ a vast treasure trove of knowledge. Unable to contain herself Isabelle ran a hand along the glossy spines, loving the feel of leather and felt underneath her fingertips. Bae's quiet noises brought her back to the present and she remembered where she was and why. She shook herself firmly and watched as Bae happily began to run his own hands across the books nearest to him. A starfish of pale flesh ran the full length of the bottom-most shelf and a joyous laugh echoed throughout the house. She watched as his palm graced over the neat leather spines, almost caressing the books as he moved across the base of the bookshelf. What a dear little thing, she thought fondly and stepped around him to peer over the chaotic desk. Maybe she could clear this up? It wasn't technically part of her job description but it couldn't hurt to put the books back in their shelves and organise some of the room so the house was ready for all Bae's new things. That way Gold wouldn't be so stressed about it all. Isabelle didn't know how she knew he was stressed, you wouldn't know it by simply looking at him, but something in the back of her mind told her he was in over his head. Mr Gold had an exterior like frost; it only looked hard as diamond until you knew it wasn't. Isabelle knew that, for the most part, the icy veneer Mr Gold showed the citizens of Storybrooke was genuine, unable to crack or break under anything anyone said yet, just like that frost, it was delicate under the right conditions and could very well snap underfoot. Beneath his reserve she sensed a well of deep emotion, much like her own.

From where Isabelle sat it didn't appear that the house was ready for a child. Gazing around, she saw the telling evidence of a man unaccustomed to his own company. The man who owned this house was one of solitude and creature comforts, but not a scrap of child-proofing in sight. There were antiques lying everywhere and, as far as she could see, very few areas designated for his son to play. The room was wide, a square at the front of the house which was lit up by an ornate ceiling lamp and a large bay-window that overlooked the street. The wall opposite the door was almost entirely covered by the bookshelf and an armchair was pressed into one corner between dining-room arch and hallway doorway, a stout table covered in books and a lamp beside it. The overcrowded desk was shoved against the only remaining wall-space available, beneath the bay window, and left a wide space in the centre of the room. A large, sky-blue rug covered the floor, putting something between the cold floorboards and the soles of her feet, and there was a playpen half-heartedly set up in the middle. In the kitchen the highchair she'd scooped Bae from was the only indicator in the whole house that spoke of a long term stay for a small person. Isabelle glanced down to find Bae had abandoned his book perusal and was shuffling forwards on his knees with her gifts, running them over the tops of books and along the ridges of the furniture.

"What do you think Bae?" She asked rhetorically and the boy dutifully ignored her. She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Fine then, I'll do it myself." She informed him bemusedly and walked over to the desk. Cautiously leafing through its contents and lifting whatever books she could find from beneath the rubble, Isabelle carefully created piles for all the respective junk she found lying around. After at least ten minutes of shifting, Isabelle was sure she had them all organised. One of the largest piles was of literature, which she stacked on a nearby armchair for sorting. Bae suddenly appeared by her side and pointed at the books. She crouched down beside him.

"Would you like to help me?" She asked and handed him one of the smaller ones. He clasped it tightly and looked between herself and the object in his hands as though unsure want to do. She smiled and pointed to the bookshelf. He glanced along her arm and then back to her. Frustrated Isabelle ushered him towards the bookcase. She pointed to the shelf and then the books on the armchair. He glanced at the two and finally, after a long moment of careful deliberation, ran his hand along the spines of the books with a small chortle of delight. Isabelle laughed with him and he smiled brightly.

"Never mind Bae." She said sweetly, embracing the little boy gently and earning a bemused expression from the child. She jumped at the sound of a small noise that could have been a word issuing from his lips. She drew back and stared into his eyes, but he kept his head down and she shook her head. He was a shy one but Isabelle would understand that. Gods only knew she was shy as all get go. She wandered back to the armchair and pointed to the books. Bae followed her silently but his eyes lit up slightly as she pointed to the books. He shoved his new toys into his pockets before picking up the smaller books and putting them in a neat line on the floor, oddly enough with the spines facing upward. Satisfied that he was now occupied Isabelle returned her attention to the desk, placing the several boxes and antiques in their respective piles. By the end she had cleaned the large majority of clutter from the desk, leaving Gold to sort out his paperwork but ensuring his unnecessary objects were in proper order. A noise made her look over her shoulder worriedly. She stopped and watched him out of the corner of her eye, pretending to neatened the appearance of the desk. Bae was running his cars and his hands over the small empire of books he'd created. From what she could discern there were freeways, bridges and skyscrapers amongst the general confusion of the room. He was spluttering and chortling happily, not exactly speaking but certainly making the effort. She would need to take most of them away when she organised the bookshelf but for now, she hadn't the heart to tell him or even try. Isabelle moved around to the enormous bookcase on the wall and rolled her eyes in exasperation as she noticed the thick layer of dust that covered the entirety of the shelves. However much Gold seemed to read, he took no care with the maintenance of it all. She exited the room and peered about the kitchen, keeping a cautious ear out for Bae as she opened a few cupboards and found some wood polish under the sink. That would need a lock, something she'd bring up with Gold later. She opened a large drawer in the marble-topped counter and pulled out a tea towel, running it under some water and re-entering the sitting room. Bae was happily causing havoc in his mini-city so Isabelle got busy cleaning down the bookcase, removing books, wiping them and the shelf down, and replacing them. She lost track of time and it was only when Bae began to grumble uncomfortably that Isabelle looked at her watch. It was well past 1 o'clock. She looked at her work and smiled in satisfaction. Whereas before the room had seemed cluttered to bursting point with mess, now it seemed as though wherever something had been placed was where it needed to be, every object in the room had its place now even if the overall feel was somewhat claustraphobic. There was no change in the amount of antiques she'd sorted through but the more breakable ones had been placed on the higher shelves of the bookcase, after the books had been arranged properly and allowed for space in the ledges. Bae's kingdom of books had shrunk but some were still lying about on the blue rug for him to enjoy should he wish to after lunch. The desk was well stocked with papers and a few small chests that had clanged metallically when Isabelle lifted them. All in all, the space looked well used rather than simply cluttered but you could find things now and there was not so much dust in the air. Or accidents waiting to happen to priceless antiques, Isabelle thought happily.

"I'm so sorry Bae, let's get you some lunch hey?" She said as she picked the boy up gently and he bobbed his head like a baby-bird. Isabelle gently placed him in his chair and opened the fridge. She peered around the corner of the door and pulled a face at Bae. He chortled and clapped his hands cheerfully. Then he frowned and rubbed at his stomach. Isabelle quickly fished out her container of fruit salad and cracked the lid, placing it before the little boy and stealing a piece of banana from the depths of the Tupperware. Baden watched her warily. He reached into the container and looked at her curiously. She quirked an eyebrow at him. Had the kid never had fruit salad before? Mother of the year award did not go to… she frowned and shook her head, she wouldn't judge on a half-rumour however strange the situation was. He picked out a piece of banana and popped it into his mouth. She copied him, chewing the delicious fruit and settling her elbows on the counter-top. By the time lunch (or afternoon tea) was done, the bowl was completely empty and Bae was smiling contentedly as Isabelle picked him up and carried him out to the back yard. Setting him down on the veranda she watched as he ran off into the depths of the spacious garden, leaning her head against the wooden post as she sat on the top step. Even in winter a ray of sunshine was pleasantly warm on her face and the thick, evergreen trees that bordered the property whistled and waved in the playful, if slightly chilled breeze. Isabelle wondered if it was worth getting her coat and dismissed the thought as her limbs became heavy. Bae was happy to run about, unperturbed by the slight chill, and she watched him explore his new home with childish delight with a large smile. He stopped and started as suddenly as any butterfly, laughing and hiding amongst the trees as though she couldn't see him. Isabelle felt her eyes begin to close…

"Mmmph." A strange sound made her eyes flash open and Belle jumped as a large pair of brown eyes bore into her own unprepared ones. Bae looked startled and fell back, his eyes wide as his bottom lip began to tremble. Isabelle immediately scooped him up into her arms and brought him to her chest, patting his back comfortingly.

"There now little man, you're alright." She whispered as he snuggled against her. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and looked around, seeing the angle of the sun and looking at her watch quickly.

"It's almost five little man, Papa's going to be home any minute." She said cheerfully and Bae murmured against her throat. Looking down she saw his eyes were closed and his breathing evening out as she watched. Carefully Isabelle stood and moved back inside the house, walking down the hallway and up the beautifully carved maple staircase. Remembering the brief instructions Gold had told her that morning she opened the appropriate door and entered Bae's room. She settled him into the bed beneath the window, drew the curtains quietly and walked to the door. Not a sound escaped the child and he turned onto his side, fingers drifting up into his mouth unconsciously as he dreamed. Isabelle blew him a kiss and closed the door silently, making her way downstairs and moving into the kitchen. She caught sight of herself in the mirror in the hallway and shuddered. Too thin. Too pale. Too… ugly. Honestly, she wasn't beautiful anymore, if she'd ever been at all. There were permanent circles beneath her eyes, which were slightly sunken in a face that was invalid pale. Her clothes were faded and old, hanging off her frame when once she'd debated getting sizes much bigger. Laundry day was tomorrow but she'd run out of clean clothes except for a singlet top of pale blue and beige slacks she'd foraged from the depths of the wardrobe. Her arms, usually covered by sleeves, were smattered with bruises and cuts, some old and some quite fresh. The smear of purple across her right cheek made her wince. Gold would surely have seen it that morning, hopefully she'd be able to convince him she was just clumsy… it worked with most who bothered to ask. She turned slightly to look at her back, with a few welts visible near the tops of her shoulder blades. They were raised but not as red as they had been. These were the places where Gaston's belt hadn't broken the skin and they would fade eventually even if the scars beneath them wouldn't. She cautiously lifted the hem of her shirt to peer at her back in the mirror, noting the fiery criss-cross of welts that dotted the pale flesh with a grimace of distaste. The ones that had split were covered in white patches of gauze but for the most part her pack was bare, revealing the layered crusts and scars that littered the planes of her spine, buttocks and shoulders. Ugly, she really was ugly. And not in the insecure, self-loathing kind of way most people found themselves seeing whenever they looked in the mirror. Isabelle French was a shadow, a shell of her former self and it only took a quick, pain-filled glance in the mirror to remember everything she'd been, and everything she had lost. She was so focused on her thoughts, her gaze fixed on the mirror, Isabelle never heard the footsteps or the key turning in the lock. It was the loud bang of Gold's cane hitting the floor that brought her from her daze. In half a second she whirled around, to find Gold him standing in the doorway... his amber gaze frozen over her shoulder on the welts she realised were still visible in the mirror behind her.

**Dun, dun, dun… so I put a cliffhanger in here only because the next chapter is going to contain a very lengthy heart to heart between these two. In my own opinion, OuaT is a fantastic show but sometimes I feel that the subtler route to character development is often skipped over for chase/fight scenes that really didn't have to be there. Sometimes a gentle approach is best. I want my Rumbelle to actually communicate and grow together, they will change in their own ways but it will be together and it won't happen in one big rush. There is much ahead for these two, not just Gaston… much more. **

**Many thanks again Nicole, you have been so wonderful putting up with my PMs and driving me to really take care with this story. I honestly couldn't have done this without your advice and expertise, so thank you so very much. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you are all so kind to me and you're opinions give my creative side wings. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask **


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